


echoes still

by weaselett



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Community: casestory, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaselett/pseuds/weaselett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a serial killer in New York, one who leaves no evidence behind at the crime scene and always seems to be one step ahead of the team investigating the murders. Their best chance seems to lie with the BAU, for whom the case brings back old memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**New York: 2010**

 _It’s late, and it’s raining, and her umbrella is back at the office, tucked between the filing cabinet and the wall. She’s already halfway to the subway station, there’s no real point in going back for the damn thing._

 _And isn’t that just typical of her luck recently?_

 _It’s been a terrible week, with clients cancelling orders, and others demanding last minute changes they’d only just been able to accommodate. She knows she shouldn’t see it as a bad thing, business is still doing well, despite the current economic situation as Doug is always pointing out in his ‘always look on the bright side’ way. It’s just that she knows how much had already been spent on those cancelled orders, and how much extra the changes will cost._

 _She sighs, pulling her jacket a little tighter around herself before hurrying out onto the street, hurrying as best she can in kitten heels and a pencil skirt. It’s not raining quite as hard as it was before, but it’s enough that she knows she’ll be soaked through before she’s made it even halfway to the subway._

 _There’s a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye as she passes an alley, then there’s something around her neck. She wants, desperately, to breathe but she can’t, all she can feel is the pressure on her neck, even as she kicks out and tries to rip the thing choking her away. She doesn’t even notice as her bag drops from her shoulder._

Sunlight flittered through the curtains, offering meagre illumination for Ashley Seaver to use as she navigated the bomb site that was her apartment. Her blonde hair was a mess of knots, dangling around her shoulders and obscuring parts of the lettering on the oversized t-shirt she wore to bed. It was only through sheer luck that she managed to reach the kitchen without kicking or tripping over something.

Grabbing the open carton of orange juice from the fridge, Ashley gave it a cursory sniff before taking a long drink. It had been a long week, filled with neighbour canvasing and trawling through stacks of paperwork, made more interesting by the occasional staring match between her partner and the cops they were working with. She was looking forward to her one day off, or at least the day she had off provided nothing new came up.

Her boss had decided that, after nearly two weeks without rest, her people needed a day off. They hadn’t made any progress on their case, none of the leads turning into anything solid, and, cold as it might sound, the victims weren’t going to be any less dead. If they were going to get anywhere, they needed to have clear heads, and that meant not working themselves until they dropped from exhaustion and too much cop shop coffee.

Ashley sighed, lowering the carton and eying her apartment critically. She really didn’t want to be thinking about the case on her day off. Considering the logistics of getting her apartment into a state considered habitable was somehow much more appealing.

Ashley would be the first to admit that she wasn’t exactly the neatest of people, she left caps off bottles, and the toothpaste, she didn’t always wash up her plates and she tended to leave her muddy shoes wherever they landed. It was part of her charm, or so her mother was always telling her.

The only problem was, very few of the people she had dated shared her mother’s feelings on the matter, though it had been even more of an issue during her years at college. She was lucky, this time, that her current housemate and significant other had been too busy to notice the growing mess. Mellie had a lot of patience when it came to the mess Ashley tended to leave behind, and didn’t yell at her for leaving notes in pen in the margins of books, but she did have her limits.

Ashley moved to stand in the middle of the mess, hands her hips and sighed. It was going to take her most of the day just to get the level of mess somewhere close to acceptable.

Barnaby, her two year old mutt, whined at her from his position on the couch, offering a feeble tail wag of encouragement. His food bowl was somewhere under the mess; she’d had to use one of the throwaway plates to feed him the night before, which had been about the point that she’d actually noticed what could politely be called a disaster.

So much for being a responsible pet owner and girlfriend.

She shook her head, laughing at herself, only she would get depressed over having to tidy up. All she needed to do was approach it like it was a case, organise each of the steps she needed to take to get the apartment back into a state the rest of the world would consider liveable. The first two items on that list being ‘wash all the dirty plates’ and ‘get a load ready to take down to the laundry room’.

She was an FBI agent, she’d been trained to do more complex and life threatening things that tidying. She was not going to be defeated by her own dirty clothes.

Or the strange thing growing on Monday’s takeaway.

Ashley paused, looking down at herself and laughing softly. Getting dressed probably ranked higher on the list than anything else, especially if she intended on actually taking stuff down to the laundry room. Wandering around in nothing but one of her old college t-shirts wasn’t likely to be well received, and she’d never been able to wander around in anything less than jeans and a t-shirt.

 

It was almost half past two in the afternoon when her phone buzzed it’s warning before the familiar ring tone started up, summoning her out of the kitchen, drying her hands hurriedly on a towel before picking up the phone.

“Seaver.” Ashley stared numbly out the window at the rain as she listened to the message, their killer had struck again. Ashley swallowed hard, forcing herself to thank the agent and confirm that she understood the message before hanging up.

Barnaby dragged himself out of his bed, tail wagging, and pressed his bulk against her legs, whining softly as he stared up at her with his big dark eyes. It took Ashley a moment before she could force herself to move, blinking and bending down to pull Barnaby into her arms, burying her face in his fur for a moment. She let him go, ruffling his ears and wiping at her cheeks before heading into the bedroom to get changed.

She changed into a still warm from the dryer pair of suit trousers and a dark sweater before fetching her gun and credentials from the locked drawer of the desk in the corner. She didn’t once let herself think about the last crime scene, the way that victim had looked. She wasn’t going to think about it, or let herself wonder if, had she stayed at work just a little longer the night before, had she seen something in what they had, this victim could have been saved.

The past was beyond her control, all she could do was keep moving forward, no matter what.

She cast one last look around the room, making sure nothing was out of place before she stepped back out into the main room, tugging the bedroom door shut behind her. She tugged on her flat black dress shoes and then, with a glance out the window, she grabbed her umbrella from the sofa.

“I’ll be back when I can,” Ashley told Barnaby solemnly, picking up her keys and opening the apartment door, a feeling of dread gathering in the pit of her stomach, “whenever that is.”

 

It had been raining almost every day for a week, and it showed. Ashley tightened her grip on her umbrella as she made her way from the subway station to the crime scene. She didn’t own a car, living in New York and as close to the field office as she did, she’d decided that she didn’t need her own. The FBI had a seemingly endless supply of cars for them to use, on the rare occasions they actually needed them.

She fished her badge out of her pocket as she approached the cordon, collapsing her umbrella and tucking it under her arm then showed her badge to the police officers on guard before ducking under the tape. She offered them a weak, and somewhat apologetic, smile before turning away and following the sound of her boss’s voice around the corner and into an alleyway.

Daraca MacTaggart, Ashley’s boss, stood a little way into the alleyway, speaking to the medical examiner. MacTaggart looked her typical professional self, dressed in a trouser suit and dark overcoat, long red hair loose around her shoulders.

Ashley’s partner, one of the New York field office’s more senior agents, Philip Donavon was standing a few feet further into the alley than MacTaggart, talking to two of the detectives who had been working the case since before the FBI had been called in. The first two bodies had been found in the same district, and hadn’t drawn much attention. The third body, on the other hand, had drawn a whole lot of attention and had been found on the Upper East Side.

Ashley had been in the field office, hidden behind her desk and Donavon’s bulk, when the victim’s parents had stormed in. She heard them tell MacTaggart that the killer should have been caught before their daughter had been killed.

That the killer should have been caught before he’d moved onto ‘better prey’.

She flinched at those words. She’d read the newspaper mentions of the other murders, she knew they hadn’t been poor, or homeless, that neither of them had been working the street. They’d been normal, average New Yorkers, no more deserving of what had happened to them than any murder victim ever was.

MacTaggart had been informed, a few hours after she’d finally managed to convince the family to go home, by various city officials that she was being placed in charge of a task force. Ashley had wondered how many more victims it would have taken for that to happen, had the third victim not been from money.

Ashley kept her focus on Donavon as she walked towards him, not wanting to risk a glance at the body until she was stationary. She still hadn’t quite gotten used to the sight of dead bodies, though she had coped fairly well with her first two violent crimes cases.

She knew she needed to get used to it, had been told by Donavon that she would, that it was just a matter of getting used to it the more often you were exposed to it. She still wasn’t sure if he’d been joking or not when he’d suggested she spend a day watching autopsies.

She hoped he had been.

Donavon, who was more Latino than his name suggested, and tended to curse in Spanish whenever he was frustrated, was more patient with her than any of the police detectives were and she was grateful for it. She hadn’t expected to be plucked from white collar crimes in Denver and assigned to violent crimes in New York.

He glanced sideways as she came to stop beside him, offering the two detectives a smile but not interrupting their conversation. She glanced back towards MacTaggart, watching the other woman’s expression as she listened to the ME’s report.

MacTaggart, or Daire as she preferred to be called, was someone whose opinion Ashley very much respected. In her brisk way, she’d made Ashley as welcome as possible in the six months she’d been working under her, though she had made it clear that she expected a high standard of work from her new junior agent.

In all honesty Ashley much preferred MacTaggart’s hard management style to the overly friendly approach that her boss in the Denver field office had taken, despite the effect it had on the rather epic candle that Ashley found herself holding for her new boss.

There were days when Ashley honestly found herself wishing that she could grow up to be just like Daraca MacTaggart. Right up until the moment that her brain asked whether the world would actually survive having two Daracas. The answer was most invariably no.

Daire had a tendency to make as many enemies as she did friends, and she didn’t have a particularly warm personality. Ashley had heard it said that having an ice queen as the New York Special Agent in Charge was almost a tradition.

Ashley swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the crime scene, instead of her list of ‘reasons why Ashley is hot for Daire’ that had a tendency to run through her head when her boss was around.

Looking sideways Ashley forced her expression to stay neutral as she took in the body. It was a woman, or at least Ashley was fairly sure it was a woman, judging from the long dark hair that was splayed out around the head, and the suggestion of breasts amongst the wreckage of the torso.

Ashley took a long deep breath through her mouth, shifting a little to take her umbrella in her hands. She needed the feel of the weight in her hands to distract herself from the fact that she really would rather either be throwing up, or not looking at the body. Or possibly both at the same time.

Ashley hadn’t seen the other three victims’ bodies in anything other than pictures, and they had given her the distance she’d needed to be able to examine them. She could look at a photo and not want to throw up. From what she’d seen, each body was worse than the one before, the violence that bit more pronounced, the body that much more damaged.

She didn’t understand how people could do things like this, and it’s a question she’d been pondering almost her whole life.

She doesn’t know how they can stop seeing the person, the owner of the body that they leave behind, how a person can have such a low opinion of another to be able to kill them in such horrific ways.

She wished that she could call killers monsters as easily as everyone else seemed to, but she couldn’t. She could still remember how loved her father had made her feel, how much she’d craved his attention. He hadn’t been like other people’s dads, but he’d been her dad so it hadn’t mattered.

Her father had never been a monster to her.

Ashley let out the breathe that she hadn’t even realised she was holding, loosening her grip on her umbrella and turning away from the body, just as the ME moved back towards the body and away from a grim looking Daire. Donavon touched Ashley’s elbow, his dark eyes meeting hers as he silently asked if she was ok.

Ashley swallowed hard then nodded, somehow managing to smile at him. He watched her carefully for a long moment before he nodded, turning his attention to Daire as she approached, hands tucked into her pockets.

The two detectives, Connor and Markham, stiffened a little. It was unusual for the SAC to be at a crime scene, and the police weren’t happy with having to share the investigation with the FBI as it was. Daire had been trying her best not to step on toes, but Ashley had a feeling that her hand was being forced.

“Detectives,” Daire nodded to them, “do you think this was the same guy?” She motioned towards the body, with a detachment that Ashley admired. It wasn’t a question that really needed to be asked, but Ashley guessed that Daire was just making absolutely certain. None of them had seen the original three crime scenes outside of the files.

“It’s the same guy.” Markham, the older of the two, answered.

“Four victims in five months,” Daire commented, “but there’s no increase in pace between kills, even though the violence has increased.”

“And no pattern to the dump sites, yet.” Donavon added, shifting his weight a little. He was probably jones-ing for a cigarette.

Ashley glanced back at the body, hesitating before asking the question that she wanted to know, “Do we know who she is?”

Connors snorted, “You still collecting names kid?”

Ashley glared at him but didn’t take the bait. Connors hated paperwork almost as much as she hated the smell of his cologne. She honestly didn’t know how he’d managed to survive in the police force for so long.

“Not yet.” Daire answered, ignoring the glare that Ashley was aiming at Connors, and the finger that he showed in reply. “Considering her shoes, we should get a name pretty soon,” she added after a moment, turning to watch as the ME started the process of moving the body. The crime scene techs had gotten as much as they could from it, which given the weather, Ashley had a feeling was very little.

They all stood in silence for moment before Markham spoke up, “We might have a lead.”

Daire’s eyebrows lifted, ever so slightly, “A suspect?”

Markham nodded, “The last victim, Keri Holden, she used for a while,” Ashley could hear ‘as all rich kids do’ in his tone; Markham liked stereotyping people he didn’t like, “and the second victim was caught on camera, talking to the dealer that Keri used.”

“What about the first victim?” Daire asked.

Markham shook his head, “We were lucky to get that much this fast. You know how many cameras there are covering this city? You add in the time frame and you’ve got a hell of a lot of camera footage to go through, even with facial recognition.”

Daire sighed, then nodded, “Once we’ve got a name, we’ll look and see if we can find any connection with our latest victim.”

They all stand, watching the body bag being lifted onto the gurney then wheeled off, before Daire spoke again. “There’s nothing else we can do here.”

 

Eight hours later, Ashley read though the autopsy report, as she sat across from Connors in the conference room that they’ve taken over. It reads a lot like the others.

Their latest victim, Madison Keller, was strangled, and her throat was slit. There were no signs of sexual assault, but the cut to her throat has been shallow enough that it had taken her a long time to bleed out. The killer had spent that time inflicting the majority rest of her wounds, though she had been dead before they’d finished mutilating her body. The weapons used looked to be the same ones as had been used on the other victims, based on the initial analysis of the wounds.

And that was all they knew.

Ashley sighed, dropping the report and looking up, staring at the section of their incident board that showed the first victim. Anna Wright had been found two days after being killed, by which time it had rained and the dumpster her body had lain behind had leaked, corrupting what evidence had been found.

The killer had cut themselves at some point, as they’d been attacking Anna, leaving stray blood splatter on the sleeve of Anna’s coat. At least that was what the crime scene techs had said in their report, explaining why the blood couldn’t have been Anna’s, but they hadn’t been able to recover a testable sample.

It was the one mistake that the killer had made, and they couldn’t even use it to find the son of a bitch.

Ashley shook her head, pushing the autopsy report to one side and picking up her new stack of folders, the preliminary results of the background check she’d run on Madison. Donavon was busy interviewing her family, finding out what he could about her, while Markham chased up his lead.

Across the room, two other agents were trawling through the finer details of the other victims’ lives. There really was no end to the invasion of privacy that was murder.

Ashley scanned the first page, Madison hadn’t lived close to any of the other victims, and she’d worked across town from them. It was possible she could have crossed paths with Keri Holden, if the Holden’s had ever done any business with Madison’s firm. Ashley noted it down as something to check when she had the copies of Madison’s financials she’d requested.

She’d just moved onto Madison’s education history, feeling a little like she was reading a CV rather than background check, when Markham stormed into the room, Daire and Donavon a few steps behind.

Markham pinned three photos to the incident board, then stepped back with a dramatic flourish.

The grainy prints, which Ashley guessed had come from CCTV footage, each showed one of the victims close to the same man. Keri was clearly talking to him, doing a deal for whatever her vice had been, Madison seemed to be trying to convince him to back off, while Debra was deliberately avoiding him.

“We’ve got him.”

 

It had taken an hour for Daire to agree to send a tactical team with them to collect their suspect, with the specific warning that he should be brought in alive for questioning. They still hadn’t connected him to Anna, so he was still just a person of interest.

Ashley wasn’t so sure that Markham agreed with that. He’d been on this case for five months, with both Anna and Debra’s families pushing him for answers. If she was frustrated after just a few weeks, she couldn’t imagine what it was like for him and Connors.

She drew her gun, following Donavon’s example, as they approached the building their suspect was known to use as a base, staying back behind the bulk of the SWAT guys and the two detectives. The weight of her flak jacket was still a little alien to her, especially with it hidden under her jacket. She was hot, despite the heavy rain, and she was worried.

Once they were inside it all seemed to happen so fast. Their suspect’s friends fled in all directions, the SWAT guys parting to let them past. They weren’t interested in any of them, this time. The suspect was cornered, and it seemed like he was surrendering, letting Connors pull him forward.

Then she caught sight of the gun he had in the waist of his jeans, sitting at the small of his back. He stumbled deliberately, pulling his gun and taking a step back, his back to Ashley and Donavon, aiming for Connors’ head.

 

 

 **Quantico, Virginia: 1996**

The target sheet jerks just a little with each shot, like it’s caught a breeze. It’s most noticeable when he empties a clip quickly, barely pausing between each trigger press. On those occasions, it’s rare for him to manage to hit the exact same place, but when he takes it slowly, taking a breath between each shot, waiting for the target sheet to settle, he can normally hit the same place, over and over.

The ear protectors muffle the sound of each gunshot, and he knows he’s more used to that weird distorted noise than he is to the actual sound of a gunshot. It’s not that he hasn’t used his gun outside of the firing range; it’s more that these days at least, he’s spending more time on the firing range than he is in the field.

Aaron Hotchner sighed, clearing his gun. That had been his last clip, which meant he couldn’t really delay the inevitable much longer. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy his new job, it’s more that it’s taking him a while to get used to having to share a desk with two other agents.

Two other agents who don’t like him all that much and have a pool on how long his marriage is going to last. A pool that had started out as ‘does the hotshot actually have a wife, or is that just the name for his stick’ pool, up until Haley had come in to visit.

The problem was Haley had only visited him because she had been concerned that he wasn’t eating enough. Having a packed lunch brought to you when you worked in an office full of profilers, really wasn’t a comfortable experience.

Aaron handed his goggles and ear protectors over to the agent on duty and signed himself out. He hesitated at the door for a moment, taking a deep breath, centring himself before pushing the door open. He still had the five minute walk to the building the Behavioural Analysis Unit was based, but he’d learned early on that it was easier just to stay in ‘prosecutor mode’, as Haley called it, while he was at work.

He missed SWAT, where he’d just been one of the guys. Yeah, they’d all known that he’d been a prosecutor, and the first few weeks had been hell, but once he’d proved himself in the field, they’d pretty much accepted him. The problem was, while he knew this was just the same, that once he’d proved that he wasn’t just some ex-prosecutor with a political agenda, proved that the BAU was more than just a stepping stone for him, he wasn’t really getting the chance to prove himself.

Only the senior profilers went out in the field, and when they did it was almost always alone. They didn’t take any of the new guys with them, and there were times when getting them to teach him anything was a lot like pulling teeth.

For over six months now all he’d been doing was reviewing cases, making notes, reading textbooks and sitting through scathing reviews of his profiles. He knew that he wasn’t getting it right all the time, he was more aware now than ever before just how much he’d been relying on seeing the guys he was profiling.

Hostage negotiation he could do. He was used to having a file read to him over the radio, or reading it himself on the way to the scene, then using that information to get what he wanted. He knew how to read body language, how to tell when what he was saying was the wrong thing, or that someone wasn’t willing to listen to reason.

Crime scenes, he couldn’t read. He hadn’t figured out if it was because the photos were just that bad, or if he was just looking too hard for answers. The police reports were more helpful, some of the time, but he still felt like he was missing something. It was all just words on paper, subjective perspectives on something that he was meant to be looking at objectively.

Aaron sighed again, rubbing a hand over his eyes and slowing as he approached the main door. He stopped, taking a moment to enjoy the feel of the sunshine, and the light breeze, before heading in. There was a possibility that spending hours stuck in a bunker was getting to him, throwing him off his game, but that sounded too much like an excuse.

 

Aaron walked into the main area of the bunker that was the BAU command centre just in time to watch an irate looking Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi stalk towards Max Ryan’s office. Aaron winced a little as the door to Ryan’s office slammed shut. Rossi tended to get more dramatic the worse a case was, and recently it seemed like they just kept getting worse.

Aaron made his way to his shared desk, aware of the attention that his entrance had gained. Even if he hadn’t walked in at the exact moment that Rossi had decided to make a scene, he still would have drawn attention. It wasn’t just the state of his marriage that the office liked to discuss.

There were always bets, or so he had been assured by the researchers, on the prospective shelf-life of new profilers. He’d just drawn that little bit more attention because of his history. They all seemed to know about his short, but relatively successful career as a prosecutor, but none of them knew what he’d done since. The general consensus seemed to be that he wouldn’t last long.

Aaron eyed the desk, and the pile of files that seemed to have gotten bigger since he’d left for his lunch break. He knew where those files had come from; he might not be a decent profiler yet but it didn’t exactly need a profiler to notice that the other piles had gotten a lot smaller. It was going to be a long day.

Settling into his chair, the only thing that he wasn’t meant to have to share, he picked up the file that he’d been working on. It wasn’t a whole file so much as a collection of incident reports that might be connected. It was his job to figure out if they were, and why, or so Ryan’s notes informed him.

Aaron frowned, flicking through the files idly, before glancing up at Ryan’s office. He knew there was no use in going to Max Ryan for advice on anything. Ryan isn’t a terrible teacher, but he doesn’t have much patience outside of the classroom.

One of the founders of the BAU, Ryan has only ever taken one person under his wing; Jason Gideon. Aaron knows Gideon’s history, it’s hard not to, and he knows it’s a whole lot more impressive then his own. Aaron doesn’t have Gideon’s academic credentials, once he finished law school that had been it, until now. He’d spent the first month in the BAU reading the textbooks with a dictionary on the table beside him.

Gideon himself is starting to teach, but he seems to favour teaching young recruits, and it’s rare for him to spend enough time in the office for Aaron to ask him for any advice. He’d tried once, and been given a suitably vague answer in response. One that he was sure would have made sense to the more senior profilers, but which had only confused him more.

David Rossi is a whole other problem. Of all the senior agents, he’s the one that Aaron worries about, though he knows it isn’t his place. On the few occasions they’ve spoken, there’s been a wariness in Rossi’s eyes. It isn’t that Rossi hasn’t helped; it’s more that, by his own admission, Rossi’s a better teacher in the field than in the classroom. Aaron’s still wondering why no one has started a pool on how much longer Rossi will last before he retires. Ryan already has one foot out the door as it is, and he looks less haunted than Rossi does on a good day.

Katie Cole, the last of the most experienced senior agents, isn’t the teaching type. She’s happy enough to talk to him, and give him a nudge in the right direction, but she doesn’t have the patience, inclination, or time to take any of the junior profilers under her wing. She’s given Aaron the warmest welcome though, always insisting that he call her Katie instead of Ma’am or Cole, and hauling him off for the occasional break to talk about something that isn’t profiling.

They have a similar background, and she’d happily told him about some of her more interesting cases, though she’d never told him what had made her decide to become an FBI agent. He can guess though, from the look she gets sometimes, when she’s working a certain type of case, but he never presses.

He knows better than anyone that sometimes it’s better not to push.

He sighs again before refocusing on the file, ignoring the irritated look that Jenson throws him across the desk, and the muttered comment about lawyers from Massley on his right. Ryan’s note, which uses excessively simple language, tells him that as he needs to work on the accuracy of his profiles of arsonists, he had been assigned this case specifically.

There were days when Aaron honestly wondered if Ryan were really as good a profiler as people said, or if he just really didn’t like Aaron, and didn’t care if people knew.

If Aaron had really been looking for a way to take a step up the ladder as badly as everyone seemed to think, he wouldn’t have joined the BAU. He’d had enough offers since he’d joined the FBI, he could have taken a position on a White Collar unit, his family would have been happier if he had.

Aaron shifted his weight, managing not to flinch as the toe of a dress shoe hit him solidly in the shin, before picking up his pen and starting to write notes, going through the incident reports in order. Once that was done, it was a matter of searching through the textbooks and the case files on known offenders and comparing factors.

Aaron looked up as whirlwind Rossi reappeared from Ryan’s office, stilling as the other man pointed at him then one of the briefing rooms, his expression grim. Aaron nodded his understanding, not really knowing what else to do, then watched as Rossi vanished into his office. It took a moment before he managed to get himself moving, rearranging his files before standing and making his way to the briefing room.

He wasn’t sure what to expect; as far as he knows he hasn’t done anything to upset Rossi, and if he had he knows he wouldn’t be meeting with him in a briefing room. Unless he’d done something bad enough that Rossi felt the need to make the reprimand public.

Aaron walked into the briefing room to find Katie already settled at the table, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she read through the thick file on the table in front of her. She glanced up for a moment to offer him a faint smile before returning her attention to the file.

Katie seemed to have the only copy of the file, but there are four notepads spaced out around the table, with a collection of pens piled in the centre. Aaron made his way to the closest chair, sitting down and picking a pen from the pile, trying his best not to look nervous.

Generally the profilers work alone, but he’s heard, via various sources, that the higher ups want that to change, and soon. The problem is, it’s not an idea that’s been finding much support within the BAU, and Aaron knows as long as Ryan one of the people in charge, that attitude isn’t likely to change.

Ryan and Rossi, with their maverick ways, might get the job done, but they’ve caused problems, and everyone knows it. The thing is, Aaron knows that isn’t the reason for the suggested changes; he can still remember the newspaper headline that had appeared a few months before he’d joined the BAU, it’s not unusual for the unsubs to become obsessed with their profilers.

And you really didn’t want to be the person who has drawn the attention of a killer, who wants nothing better than to prove to you just how wrong your profile is.

Aaron looked up, pulling himself out of his rather dark thoughts, as Nancy King, one of the quieter researchers and Rossi’s preferred aid, slipped into the room, looking a little paler than usual. She’d told Aaron, during one of their early morning break room conversations, that she’d considered profiling, for a while, up until she’d seen her first dead body. That had been the point that she’d decided to stick to the safety of the office.

He’d found the case file, wondering how bad a scene it had been, and having seen the rather grisly crime scene photos, which had only given a vague impression of what it would have been like to actually see the body, Aaron couldn’t really blame Nancy for her decision.

She settled into the seat beside him, smiling her thanks as he handed her a pen, before she started to twirl her blonde hair between her fingers idly.

Next into the room were Ben Wilkes, another researcher and Hamilton Daye, another of the junior profilers.

Aaron tensed. He knew Hamilton all too well, they’d been at law school together and they hadn’t gotten along. Hamilton had never spent the same amount of time studying as the rest of them, preferring to spend his father’s money on other pursuits. Aaron had never understood the way a man could keep betting, while continuing to lose.

Where Aaron had made a successful law career for himself, Hamilton hadn’t had much success until he’d joined the FBI, taking a position on a violent crimes task force. According to the researchers and the other junior agents, Hamilton had excelled, earning himself a place within the BAU following a record number of closed cases. Aaron hadn’t managed to figure out how true the stories were, and he didn’t care enough to make any effort to look into them.

He could understand hero worship, and he wasn’t about to purposefully ruin it for any of them, no matter what his personal opinion of Hamilton was.

They were waiting for a few minutes before Rossi strolled in, looking calmer than he had when Aaron had last seen him, a collection of files tucked under his arm.

“You’re all here, good, we can get started,” Rossi settled himself into the seat next to Katie, dropping the files onto the table, “with the details of this case, it seems the best time to try the director’s suggestions.”

Hamilton offered Rossi a sympathetic smile, “We’re doing a group profile?” His gaze drifted to Aaron, his smile wavering a little. Aaron resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he hoped Hamilton didn’t decide to play passive aggressive alpha male for the whole case. From the size of the files, this wasn’t going to be a simple or quick case.

Rossi’s eyes narrowed a little, but otherwise his expression remained the same, “We have a serial killer in rural North Dakota, he’s killed at least eighteen women over the past nine years. So far they haven’t been able to find much evidence at any of the crime scenes, partly because in the majority of cases the bodies haven’t been discovered for some time.”

Aaron frowned. It seemed odd that they hadn’t been called in sooner; murders were rare in North Dakota, a statistic Haley had mentioned on occasion while he’d been working as a prosecutor. Serial killers would stand out in a place where it was unusual for more than five people to be murdered a year. “Are they sure that they’ve all been killed by the same person?”

Rossi opened one of the files and pulled out a pile of faxed photos, throwing them onto the table between them. “What do you think?”

Aaron hesitated for a moment before leaning forward to drag the photos closer, spreading them out across the table. Despite the poor quality, and the state a number of the bodies appeared to be in, he could see the similarities in MO. “There are some differences, but considering the fact that North Dakota has one of the lowest murder rates, it’d be too much of a coincidence to have more than one person killing in the same way.”

Rossi nodded, clearly approving, “With the lack of evidence, and the most recent body, they decided to call us in.”

It was clear, from the look on Katie’s face, and the tone of Rossi’s voice, neither of them was feeling particularly charitable towards the police in this case. To have eighteen victims in nine years and to know that they’d been killed by the same person, but to not call for the BAU for at least a consult, was far from a good thing.

“What was the longest time between a victim being killed, and the body being found?” Aaron asked, wondering if maybe that would explain it. The bodies in some of the pictures looked to be in a more advanced state of decay than others.

“Two years,” Rossi answered, “this guy likes picking out of the way locations for his kills. Some of the bodies were just far enough from the road that no one noticed them until they actually stumbled across them. The most recent victim wasn’t found for over two weeks because of the snow.”

Hamilton frowned, “Is it deliberate?”

Rossi shrugged, “It’s hard to say. It’s a rural enough area that the victims could be walking home from work, and the police reports don’t give a whole lot of detail on the victims, besides their names, the last place they were seen, and the ME reports on their bodies.”

Which meant that they were going to have to interview the families of all of the victims when they got to North Dakota, provided they lived in the area. Aaron just hoped that he wasn’t paired with Hamilton for the interviews.

“There’s no discernible pattern in the placement of the bodies,” Katie added, “or in the timing. Where normally you would expect the number of victims to increase as he becomes more confident, it doesn’t seem to be happening.”

Hamilton had pulled the photos towards him and was frowning at them. He held up two of the pictures, and Nancy winced, shifting in her seat. Even with the quality, there was no disguising how violently the women had died. “Other than being killed with a knife, there’s a lot of difference between some of these.”

“So, because of the differences, you want to argue that we’re dealing with more than one killer?” Rossi questioned, his eyes narrowing. Aaron wondered if Hamilton was disagreeing just to have something to say, which wasn’t really the best idea.

Hamilton hesitated before shaking his head, “It could be the same unsub, but it could be a team, or just people repeating what they’ve heard about. It’s a rural community, odds are most of them know the details of the killings.”

Aaron stared at the other man for a long moment before looking at Rossi, who was eying Hamilton. Aaron couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad glare, but it was best described as ‘calculating’. Hamilton must not have worked all that much with Rossi during his year and a half with the BAU.

After a minute Hamilton shifted a little in his chair, lowering the photos.

“I’ll give you it could be a team, but I seriously doubt that all of these victims are a result of people intentionally copying a killer.” Rossi said finally, his tone mild. Aaron could see a lot of interview in Hamilton’s future, Rossi’s way of giving him an opportunity to investigate his theory. “Now, I need each of you to head home and pack a bag. We’ll be gone at least a week, if not longer, so pack enough to cover that long. Be back here in two hours, we’ll sort our travel plans then.”

They all nodded their understanding, waiting for Rossi and Katie to gather their files and leave before they followed. Aaron wasn’t looking forward to telling Haley that he was going to be gone for a while; she always hated it when he couldn’t say how long something was going to take.

 

Aaron was the first one to make it back. He hadn’t spent long at home; Haley hadn’t asked many questions and hadn’t seemed too concerned, but he knew that; had he spent more time in the house, she would have started pressing. She’d always hated it when SWAT assignments had kept him out of the house overnight, worrying when she didn’t get word that he was all right.

They’d both thought, with the BAU being a much less dangerous assignment than SWAT, that they’d be more comfortable with it. The problem was they hadn’t considered the fact that in all the years they’d been together, they’d never spent much time apart.

Katie appeared from her office a few minutes after he’d taken up residence in the break room, her go bag in one hand, with a mass of suit bags slung over her shoulder. She silently dropped her stuff on top of his and accepted a cup of coffee. “Dave shouldn’t be much longer, I could hear him yelling at the Sheriff through the wall.”

Aaron winced, it was bad enough normally, with the general opinion of the FBI being what it was, without Rossi giving the locals a reason to give them a less than pleasant welcome.

Nancy appeared in the break room, towing a suitcase, which she added to the pile, “I called ahead, reserved us some rooms.”

Katie smiled, reaching out to squeeze Nancy’s hand, “You’re a life saver, thank you.”

Nancy shrugged, smiling at Aaron as he handed her a cup of tea. It was always good to know what people liked to drink, and to remember how they liked it. His mother had taught him that, and it had come in handy a lot over the years.

“I always book Agent Rossi’s rooms.”

“Is it a good hotel?” Hamilton ambled in, sports bag slung over his shoulder, store bought cup of coffee in one hand.

Nancy frowned, “It’s a motel.”

Aaron had glanced quickly at a map, or at least that had been the plan, but finding Redmond on the map had taken a little while. He was impressed that she’d managed to find somewhere for them all to stay, and ultimately a bed was a bed. He had a small selection of cleaning supplies in his bag, supplied by Haley, to cover making his room liveable.

Hamilton made a face, and looked like he was about to comment until Rossi stepped into the room, trailed by the ever silent Ben.

Rossi held up two sets of car keys, before tossing one set to Katie, “We’re driving. Wilkes, Daye you’re with Cole. Hotchner, King with me. We’ll swap around at the first rest stop if we need to.”

It was going to be a long drive, but at least he didn’t have to spend it stuck in a car with Hamilton.


	2. Arrivals

**New York, 2010**

Ashley had somehow managed to make it back to her apartment the night before, stumbling through the door and stripping out of her clothes as soon as it shut behind her. Her coat, once she’d emptied the pockets out onto the coffee table, had been dumped in the bin.

The blood might come out, but she’d never forget it’d been there. She hadn’t liked that coat anyway.

Mellie hadn’t said a word, she’d just turned on the shower and left Ashley to it, making her a mug of tea while she waited. Under different circumstances, Ashley would have greeted her girlfriend more appropriately, but all she’d known at that moment was she wanted to be clean.

Ashley shuddered as she stood in the elevator, watching the numbers count up to the main floor. She was wearing one of Mellie’s jackets, which was a little looser than any of her own, but the familiar smell of Mellie’s favourite perfume was a comfort.

Ashley stepped out as soon the elevator doors opened, and made a beeline for her desk, she offered Donavon a weak smile before heading to the break room to make herself a cup of tea. It was still early enough that the only people in were those with urgent, on-going cases.

“Daire’s called in the BAU,” Donavon informed her when she got back to her desk, making it sound casual, even as he watched to see how she reacted to the news, “after last night’s mess, she put her foot down. Took complete control of the investigation and said it was time to admit that we need some help.”

Ashley’s eyes widened. She’d been lucky so far, or at least that’s what she’d always been told, that she hadn’t bumped into any of the BAU teams. The BAU were the ones who got called in on the cases that were complicated. That was the word her old boss had used, complicated. Most people seemed to think the BAU only investigated when people died weird, but that wasn’t true. They profiled whoever they were asked to profile, provided there had been a crime committed. It wasn’t something many people knew about though; the idea of a profile for a white collar criminal was nowhere near as exciting as a murderer. It didn’t make good news; unless the guy was especially media friendly.

At least Donavon had waited until she’d put her mug down before telling her. She’d already had to mop up spilt tea once this month; she didn’t really want to have to do it again. He could have waited till she’d sat down as well, but he rarely did.

“Do,” Ashley hesitated, trying not to sound anything but curious. She forced herself to take a deep breath before she looked up, meeting Donavon’s gaze, “Do you know which team is coming?”

Donavon frowned and Ashley fought not to react; apparently it didn’t take a profiler to know she was uneasy.

“I’ve heard a lot about them, they’re like a myth.” Ashley added, trying for her best reassuring smile, and ignoring the look that Donavon gave her in return.

“I guess they are, especially around here, after what happened the last time Hotchner’s team was here. Hell, anytime Hotchner’s team is in New York it’s bad.” Donavon shook his head, before taking a healthy swallow of coffee.

“How many times have they been here?” Ashley knew about the last time, more because it was part and parcel of the office gossip about Daire, than because anyone was interested in talking about the BAU. Daire hadn’t been the first choice to replace Joyner, or even the second, if rumour was to be believed. Ashley honestly didn’t know how she would feel in Daire’s position, especially now that the first choice for her job was coming to town to help her on a case.

“A good few, it’s not like it’s a surprise that the BAU comes out here a lot, it’s just that recently it always seems to be Hotchner’s team.” Donavon made a face as he reached the last dregs of coffee in his mug, “You know what’s worse about it these days?”

Derek Morgan, Ashley thought, though she doubted Donavon was thinking the same thing. He liked his superiors to have thick skins, she’d lived through enough of his rants on incompetent, jelly legged higher ups often enough to know that. He probably expected Daire to verbally beat Derek Morgan down at the first opportunity. “Not a clue.”

Donavon rolled his eyes, leaning sideways to place his mug on top of the pile of paperwork that was his desk, “David Rossi.”

It took a moment for Ashley to remember how to breathe, and she was insanely thankful that she hadn’t had a mouthful of tea. Spitting tea all over your partner was always embarrassing.

Donavon grinned, “Yup, that David Rossi.”

Ashley rolled her eyes, letting him think that she was a Rossi fangirl. It was better than the truth.

“His ego isn’t as big as you’d think, apparently, but just you be sure not to fawn over him when he strolls through that door. He’s here to do the same job as me and you, not to sign any books.” Donavon picked his mug back up and brandished it at Ashley, and she nodded dutifully, grinning as he muttered something about respect under his breath as he moved towards the coffee pot.

Ashley sagged a little once he was out of sight, leaning back against the wall and trying to remember the names of Hotchner’s other team members. There’s Hotchner, Morgan, and Rossi, and she thinks there’s another man and two women. The names had probably been mentioned by someone, at some point, but it was Hotchner and Morgan who had been the focus of the stories about the last time the BAU had come to town.

Ashley straightened as the door to Daire’s office opened, moving away from the wall and towards her desk. It was neater than Donavon’s, but she was fairly sure it was because she had less paperwork than he did, and she didn’t have many personal items. His desk had a collection of photos of his family, his pets and a number of random toys. She’d been addicted to his various kinetic toys, especially the acrobat, for the entirety of her second week in New York.

Ashley was fairly sure that they got along as well as they did because she was just as messy as him, and she didn’t do skirts. Or absurdly high heels. Often.

Ashley made it to her desk just as Daire drew level, and she couldn’t help but tense. Constantly wishing to be the perfect employee was one of the more annoying side effects of having a crush on her boss. There were days when she was almost afraid to leave her desk to use the restroom for fear that Daire might see her desk empty.

“They’re on their way up.” There was nothing in Daire’s voice to suggest that she felt anything, positive or negative about the BAU’s arrival, and Ashley couldn’t really see anything in her expression either.

“OK.” Ashley managed not to wince, somehow, after the word escaped her mouth. She hadn’t actually needed to say anything, and she was sure she could have thought of something better to say than that. And she really, really needed to stop second guessing every single interaction she had with her boss.

For her part, Daire’s expression remained unchanged as she moved to take up the position Ashley had vacated, drumming her fingers against the wall and studiously not looking in the direction of the entrance to the bullpen.

Apparently Ashley wasn’t the only one nervous about the impending arrivals. Through Ashley doubted that either of Daire’s parents were serial killers, or that she’d had any kind of interaction with the BAU as a child, it was more likely that she was just impatient to get moving on the case.

Daraca MacTaggart wasn’t, after all, known for having an abundance of patience. That was one of the reasons that she and Donavon got along so well, which wasn’t, Ashley knew, necessarily a good thing.

Donavon returned from his coffee run, with two extra mugs, silently handing one to Daire and the other to Ashley before he settled with his own. The smell of vanilla was almost overwhelming, and Ashley mentally added that to her list of cons. She couldn’t stand the smell of vanilla.

“They on their way up?” Donavon questioned idly, one hand hunting through his desk drawer for his stash of cookies.

Daire nodded, turning a little so that her attention was fixed on him, but with the entrance still visible out of the corner of her eye. They were taking their time. Ashley took a moment to wonder if they had a thing for dramatic entrances and were waiting for the perfect moment to walk through the door, long overcoats swirling around their legs, heads held high.

It would certainly match the view a lot of people had of them.

She’d just taken her first, rather ginger, sip of her coffee, when the doors opened, and the seven BAU agents stepped through. She waited, holding herself out of the way, as Daire leaned forward to put down her mug before doing the same herself. Donavon dropped his cookies back into his drawer before he lowered his mug to the desk, giving Daire time to approach the agents first, before he stood and followed. Ashley trailed behind him; she knew her place in the hierarchy.

The only reason she was even getting to work directly with the BAU was she was Donavon’s partner, and he was the most senior agent in the office, which meant he got all the major violent crimes cases.

The younger of the two women, a youthful blonde, stepped forward, taking up position next to the dark haired, solemn man, who looked vaguely familiar, though Ashley wasn’t sure why.

“Jennifer Jareau,” the woman introduced herself, before she gestured to the man beside her, “these are SSA’s Hotchner,” then the greying man on Hotchner’s other side, who didn’t really need an introduction, “Rossi, Morgan,” Morgan stood behind Hotchner, his dark face unreadable, “Prentiss,” the brunette standing next to Morgan, who offered them all a brief smile, “and Doctor Reid.” Ashley eyed the young man. He looked younger than most of the doctors she knew, but she’d heard enough about Spencer Reid to not question it. How she’d forgotten that he was a member of Hotchner’s team, she wasn’t sure. Memories were tricky things.

Daire shook Jareau’s hand, “SSA MacTaggart, these are SSA Donavon, and SA Seaver.”

Ashley offered them a faint smile, while Donavon shook hands with each of them in turn. Rossi didn’t recognise her, she could tell, but that wasn’t a surprise. It had been a long time, and he’d worked a lot of cases. Maybe if she was one of the victims he’d saved he would have remembered her. It doesn’t matter, she reminds herself, as Daire gives them a brief rundown of the situation. She doesn’t care that he doesn’t remember her.

If she’d wanted to be remembered as the daughter of a serial killer, she wouldn’t have changed her surname.

“We’d like to visit the crime scenes.” Hotchner spoke up for the first time, drawing Ashley’s attention. His voice was defiantly familiar, but she couldn’t place where they’d met, and that was going to bother her for a while.

“Of course, Seaver and Donavon can accompany your people, they know the case.”

Hotchner nodded, “Good. Morgan, Reid, go to the latest crime scene with Agent Seaver, Rossi, Prentiss, the third with Agent Donavon,” The agents all nodded their understanding, while Ashley cursed mentally, why couldn’t they go en masse to each crime scene? “Is there somewhere we can set up?”

Daire nodded, her best professional smile in place, even as she gave Ashley and Donavon her best ‘play nice’ glare. She knew them both far too well, and Ashley was fairly sure that Daire was happy they had been split up. It meant that Donavon would play stoic experienced agent, while Ashley ended up being the wet behind the ears rookie, too unsure to offer any comments.

Ashley hated being the rookie. It didn’t matter that was exactly what she was when it came to murder scenes, she didn’t like it. It was one of the reasons she’d taken to spending time on the firing range.

White collar didn’t see much need to actually use their guns, and she’d spent the vast majority of her time in the office. Violent crimes, on the other hand, tended to use their guns, or at least brandish them around a lot more. Plus, one of the homicide cops had actually laughed at her the one time she’d pulled her gun. It really sucked when people found your inexperience amusing.

Especially when they started a pool.

“SA Seaver.” Morgan pulled a set of SUV keys out of his pocket, before motioning towards the door.

Ashley managed a smile, ignoring the tone of voice he’d used; she’d been paying attention. She’d just been waiting for them to say they were ready. “Lead on.”

Morgan gave her one last look before he turned on his heel and led the way out of the bullpen. Reid, for his part, offered Ashley what she guessed was meant to be a reassuring smile. It didn’t really work; she knew all too well what was coming.

 

Agent Morgan’s driving was better than Donavon’s, Ashley had to give him that much credit, but he clearly wasn’t used to New York traffic. Doctor Reid had suggested a few alternate routes to the scene, listing off statistics, but Morgan had made it clear he wasn’t interested.

Ashley couldn’t help but wonder how many people had misread the men’s relationship over the years. Their banter didn’t always sound friendly, especially when Morgan started calling Reid kid, and telling him to stop talking. If it weren’t for the affectionate undertone to the words, and a faint smile Morgan directed at Reid, she might have thought they didn’t get along.

Ashley trailed after the two men as they walked down the sidewalk to the alleyway where Madison Keller’s body had been found, pulling her coat a little tighter around herself. It wasn’t raining, though the ground was still wet and the air cool, but that didn’t matter. Ashley could still remember what it was like, when she’d first come around the corner and into the alleyway.

She would always recognise the smell of blood, and other things, mingled with rain and trash.

Morgan flipped open the file in his hands as they came to a stop a few feet into the alleyway, a steady flow of people continuing on past down the sidewalk, none of them pausing for more than a moment as they glanced sideways. Ashley doubted that many of them knew why there were three people standing in the alleyway; they probably didn’t remember where Madison Keller’s body was found, if they’d even noticed any of the facts when they’d read the front page.

People always remembered that someone had been murdered, and how, but they rarely remembered the name. They might remember it was a black prostitute, or a white shop girl, might remember a vague area where the body had been found within, but they rarely remembered the names. Unless it was a rich kid whose parents had too much money for their child to become another forgotten victim.

Ashley stood to one side, watching as Morgan walked the scene, exchanging a few comments with Reid before he turned to look at Ashley, waving the file in her direction as he did. “The body was here?” Morgan motioned towards the trash bin.

Ashley nodded, shifting her weight a little, “From the street all you could see was her legs, sticking out into the alley.”

Reid was frowning, and Ashley hoped it wasn’t because of anything she’d said. Not that it could be, considering the fact that all she’d done was confirm what the report would have already told them.

“Like the body was deliberately hidden?” it was Reid’s turn to ask a question apparently.

“Well, you could see it from any of these windows,” Ashley motioned to the buildings around them, “and,” she hesitated, trying to think of words to adequately cover what she’d seen, “the killer, they seem to like, it wasn’t just her legs you could see.”

Morgan flipped through the file, “You mean the way the unsub mutilated the body?”

Ashley swallowed hard before she nodded, pulling her coat tighter still, “Even with the rain, you could see, it was hard to tell what though, until you got close, you would have had to step into the alley to know what it was you were seeing.” It sounded better, when she wasn’t describing it from her own perspective, and she didn’t want to throw up so badly anymore.

Both profilers were watching her, and she had to fight the urge to turn away, or shift under the intensity of it. She had a right to be uncomfortable, to not want to remember what she’d seen. It was bad enough having to look at the crime scene photos back at the office.

They had to have felt the same, once, although maybe not for a while; she didn’t want to think that they’d never been bothered by the crime scenes. She could understand getting used to them, building up a skin, or armour, or whatever you wanted to call it, but she didn’t think she’d ever understand a person who had never been bothered.

Maybe they would. It was a part of their job after all.

“The unsub mutilated the body with a purpose,” Reid commented, finally looking away from Ashley, he moved around the trash bin, stopping once he was on the other side. He was standing almost exactly where the body had lain.

“We’d guessed that already, from the way the unsub posed her,” Morgan agreed.

“You mean her hair?” Ashley asked without thinking, a blush rising on her cheeks as they both turned to look at her again. She wasn’t supposed to be asking questions, she was supposed to be helping them, providing any extra information they wanted, if she could.

A tiny smile touched Morgan’s lips before he turned back to Reid and Ashley relaxed.

“We’re using the crime scene as a witness,” Reid informed her, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little, “in most cases the victim is the most important witness, but when the victim of a crime is dead, we have to use the crime scene. We’re looking at the non-physical factors.”

Ashley frowned, “Non-physical factors?”

Reid nodded, smiling, “When we say non-physical factors, we tend to mean behaviour, or at least the signifiers of behaviour that are present in the crime scene. Did the unsub bring the weapon with them, did they have a plan, that kind of thing. And it isn’t just because this particular case is somewhat lacking in physical evidence. We do the same thing at every crime scene we visit. A lot of the time it’s the non-physical evidence that helps the most in developing a profile. The crime scene photos help, but we learn more from actually seeing the scene. There are things that aren’t always included in the photos, or there are aspects that get overlooked.”

Ashley nodded along, more than a little daunted in the face of the mini lecture. She hadn’t ever really considered just what profiling entailed, but she’d never really been interested in stuff like that, had avoided it as much as she could.

It didn’t look like she was going to get to avoid it anymore. Not if she was around Reid, he seemed to delight in sharing his considerable knowledge, and she was fairly sure she had somehow managed to give him the impression she’d enjoyed it.

It had been interesting; she just hadn’t really taken it all in. She kept seeing Madison’s body, each example he’d given making the memory just a little more present. She really needed to work on not letting herself get eaten up by this case.

Morgan had closed the file at some point during Doctor Reid’s lecture, and his expression had shifted from sombre to mildly amused. Obviously it wasn’t unusual for Reid to take an opportunity to lecture on a subject, but judging from the Morgan’s expression, Ashley had the feeling she was one of the few people not to interrupt him mid flow.

Which was just great; they had to have a list of things that showed just how green she was. All she could do was hope that they wouldn’t hold it against her.

“All right,” Morgan moved towards the entrance to the alley, motioning for Ashley to follow him, “the victim was walking past the alley when the unsub got the jump on her?”

Ashley nodded, “We could see that much on the camera footage. Her family told us she walked this way every night, as part of her normal route home.”

“So, she had a routine, and the unsub knew this was a good place to hide out and wait for her,” Morgan motioned Ashley out onto the street, and she hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder to Reid, eyes wide. He didn’t seem worried, at all. “Hey.” Ashley turned back to Morgan, but stayed where she was, “It’s ok, I just want to get a feel for how this all went down.”

“You mean you want me to play the victim?” It might not be the best wording for it, but that was what he was asking.

Morgan nodded, holding his hands up, “I swear, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ashley sighed, and rolled her eyes before walking out past him and onto the sidewalk, “You’ve been in the alley for about ten minutes when I walk past.” She walked the exact line Madison had in the footage she’d watched, keeping her gaze forward, not looking into the alley. The poor woman hadn’t seen her killer coming.

“Then I step out behind you, and pull you into the alley,” Morgan said, giving her warning before he stepped up behind her and slipped an arm around her neck, like their unsub had, his other hand closing gently around her upper arm, which he used to pull her with him back into the alley and out of sight of the camera.

“You struggle, but you can’t get away, somehow I manage to get you to where you want to without anyone hearing anything.” Morgan let go of Ashley as they drew level with the trash bin.

“According to the ME report the victims were all strangled, but it wasn’t the cause of death,” Reid commented.

“And if there’s something around your neck, it’s hard to make all that much noise,” Morgan shook his head, staying silent for a moment as he looked around the alleyway again, “So, the unsub strangles the victim, stopping them from struggling or crying out, then kills them with the knife, and poses the body.”

He moved, kneeling by the trash bin, next to where the body had been, glancing over his shoulder towards the street, “If anyone had looked down here, they would have seen the unsub.”

Ashley shook her head, pointing up at the light on the side of building, “It doesn’t work. The only light would have been from the street.”

Morgan sighed, looking down at the ground, “So, once the unsub had her, they could take their time, provided no one came down the alley.”

Ashley winced, tugging on her coat again. If there was one thing that bothered her about this case, it was the time that the killer, the unsub, had taken with each of their victims. They’d all died slowly, and in a lot of pain.

“You know,” Morgan frowned as he straightened up, turning to Reid, “there’s something about this case.”

“There are similarities to a few other cases,” Reid offered, bouncing a little. Ashley had a feeling that he could probably list all of the cases it was like, and why, in vivid detail.

“We should head back to the office.” Morgan commented, cutting off any further comments that Reid might have made. Ashley followed them as they made their way back to the SUV and silently climbed into the back seat.

She wondered idly, as they drove back to the field office, whether Donavon had had a similar experience at the other crime scene, or if he’d just stood by and watched, speaking only when spoken to.

She doubted she would get a chance to ask.

-

 **Mountrail County, North Dakota, 1996**

The Mountrail County Sheriff’s Department was about what Aaron had expected it to be; small and very rural. He could feel the stares of the locals as they climbed out of their SUVs, and he wondered how they were feeling.

It had been a long drive, broken by a night spent in a tiny motel in the middle of nowhere, and he’d traded off driving with Rossi every so often. For most of the drive they’d been travelling through places he’d never seen before; he just wished it had been for a nicer reason. You didn’t get to sightsee while investigating a serial killer.

He’d read through the files during the drive, whenever he hadn’t been behind the wheel, and what little detail there was hadn’t been pleasant. Almost all of the victims were from Mountrail County, which covered a fairly big area, with a lot of green space between towns, and worse, none of them had been high risk. No runaways or prostitutes, and none under twenty-five.

The sheriff, Andrew Hawkes, a tall, heavy built grey-haired man, greeted them, his expression grim. Nodding to each of them as Rossi introduced them. “It’s good to have you here; I know we should have called you in sooner,” his gaze shifted to Rossi for a moment, “but in all honestly we’d all been hoping that it was just coincidence.”

Aaron winced; they hadn’t called in any help because of wishful thinking. It had probably been easier saying that when it had just been one victim a year, reasoning that it couldn’t be one of the locals, it had to be an outsider, someone passing by. Three deaths in one year, spread out across the seasons, couldn’t be dismissed so easily.

“The eighth victim, Veronica Kemp, she was my first murder, my first year as Sheriff,” Hawkes shook his head, sighing, “No one told me there’d been more with the same MO; I didn’t even think to look until they called in Audrey’s body.”

“Audrey Taylor?” Rossi asked, frowning.

Hawkes nodded, “Yeah, she was the tenth, she’d been missing a week when they found her. Three women, killed the same way, I figured it had to be the same guy. I’ve spent the last few years trying my hardest to catch this son of a bitch, but he leaves so little behind. There’s almost nothing to work with, and all anyone can say is they don’t know anyone who’d be capable of something like this.”

Hawkes shook his head, before turning, motioning for them to follow him into the station. “Best we continue this inside.”

Rossi and Cole lead the way, and Aaron let the others go ahead of him, gaining a knowing look from Nancy. She was always telling him his mother should be proud, managing to raise him to have good manners. Half of the agents in the office seemed to forget they had ever had any manners at all.

The inside of the Sheriff’s station was bigger than Aaron had expected, considering its outside appearance, and there were a number of deputies milling around; some actually working, others clearly more interested in watching the feds. Hawkes lead them through the bullpen and into a side room, which was just big enough to hold a conference table and chairs, as well as the case boards that took up one side of the room, covering the wall.

Aaron closed the door to the room, ignoring the looks he received from two of the deputies. If the sheriff had wanted them to hear what happened, he would have asked them to join the meeting.

“In all honesty,” Hawkes picked back up where he’d left off, “I never really thought to call you in. I’ve been in contact with NDBI, but with the lack of evidence they’ve left it to us. I’ve been sending whatever evidence we’ve had out to them, and they’ve lent us crime scene people, but that’s been about it.”

Katie perched on the edge of the conference table, “So what made you call us now?”

“My wife,” Hawkes shrugged, “she attends these lectures from time to time, at Georgetown, takes a whole week off to herself. The last one she attended was one of Jason Gideon’s. When I got the call the other night, first thing she said to me was ‘if it’s another woman murdered, you’d best call the feds’.”

“Smart woman.” Rossi commented, drawing a smile from Hawkes.

“That she is.” Hawkes waited a beat before he spoke again, addressing Rossi, “So, how do you want to do this?”

Rossi paused, glancing to Katie, who shrugged, clearly happy to let him run the show. “If you could have a deputy take me and Hotchner out to the last crime scene, Cole and the others will start on interviewing the families, if that’s all right with you?”

Hawkes nodded, “Deputy Campbell can take you out there, he was the first on scene when they found her. I’ve got Imogen Jordan’s husband coming in an hour, I figured you’d want to talk to him. It still hasn’t sunk in, he spent the last month certain that she’d just gone to visit her sister. He’s the one that ID’d the body, but he still doesn’t really believe it. It was the same with a few of the other families.”

Aaron followed Rossi and Hawkes as they left the little conference room, ignoring the look that Hamilton threw him. Deputy Campbell turned out to be one of the people who had been working when they’d entered, as well as looking to be the youngest of the deputies. Campbell led the way outside to his patrol car. Aaron hesitated for a moment before climbing in the back, knowing that it would mean that one of the others would have to let him out. The only upside was, unlike a lot of the patrol cars Aaron had seen, the back of this one was clean and didn’t smell unpleasant.

 

Rossi opened the door for Aaron when they reached the crime scene, making a show of it despite the bemused look it drew from Campbell. The crime scene wasn’t too far from the station, on the outskirts of Ross, but Aaron had been very aware of the open countryside as they’d driven between Stanley and Ross.

There was a line of crime scene tape, marking off a corner of the woodland, close enough to the houses that it could be seen, but far enough away that it wasn’t clearly visible. At night anyone who happened to be in the woods would be almost totally invisible. Aaron sighed, glancing back down the road, remembering the bus stop he’d caught sight of as they’d passed.

Campbell motioned towards the very edge of the trees. The crime scene tape reached a few yards in before it stopped, circling back around to the road. “She was there, just into the trees, once I knew she was there, I could see her, but,” he stopped shaking his head, looking like he wanted to throw up. Aaron took a little step to one side. He liked his shoes more than he wanted to offer the young deputy any comfort. The man was lucky, once this unsub was caught it was likely he’d never see another dead body again.

Rossi patted Campbell on the arm, motioning back to the patrol car, holding up the file that he’d brought with him, “It’s ok kid, we’ve got it for now.”

Campbell nodded quickly, turned and hurried back to the car.

Rossi watched him go before he turned to Aaron, with a smile, “How many crime scene have you profiled so far?”

“Three,” Aaron answered. It wasn’t many, but it was more than he’d expected. There hadn’t been many cases that had been deemed worthy of the presence of more than one profiler, and even fewer that had been considered suitable for training. He’d seen the aftermath of a fire, an abduction site, and a dump site. There hadn’t been any dead bodies, but Aaron had seen enough of those already. He’d killed a good few people himself, seen death up close and personal; such was the hand dealt to a member of SWAT.

Rossi frowned, “We’ll have to see what we can do about changing that.” He flipped open the file, pulling the photos to the front before motioning for Aaron to follow him under the tape and closer to where the body had been found.

Aaron glanced back again, to see if he could still see the bus stop, “There’s a bus stop down the road.” He pointed it out to the other man, not sure if he’d seen it as they’d passed.

Rossi nodded, “There’s nothing in the file to say, but we’ll see if the family can confirm that she’d been using a bus. There’s no mention of her having taken a car, so it would make sense.”

Aaron eyed the photos before taking in the scene, imagining it complete with body. There wasn’t anything, no signs of disturbance that looked like it predated the crime scene techs, but it had been a week since the victim had been killed. Any signs the unsub might have left behind were long gone. Aaron sighed, at the other crime scenes he’d at least felt like he’d gained something from visiting them, now he just felt more frustrated.

He glanced to Rossi, watching as the other man noted something down in his notebook in blue pen, having tucked the case file under his arm. He waited for a moment, to see if Rossi was going to offer any comments, before he spoke up, “There’s nothing here.”

Rossi quirked an eyebrow, finally looking up from his notebook, “So, you think the unsub dragged her over here, kicking and screaming, and no one noticed a thing?”

“There were ligature marks around her neck, I don’t think she could have screamed, even if she wanted to.” Aaron pointed out, glancing back towards the houses. Noise would probably carry out here at night, but if they were asleep, or watching TV or something, they wouldn’t hear anything. Even if she could have screamed, they might not have heard, or even known what it was. He wondered if the sheriff had canvassed the area.

“So,” Aaron wondered if Rossi was going to start every sentence with that word, “you figure the unsub grabbed her, strangled her to subdue her, then carried her over here where they were less likely to be seen?”

Aaron nodded, moving so he was standing next to the dip in the snow and turning to face the road. The trees obscured the view to his left, but he had a clear view of the road. The ground sloped down to the road. If it had been light when the unsub had killed Imogen, someone would have seen something. “It had to have been dark, there’s too clear a view of this place when it’s light.”

Rossi smiled, nodding, “So,” Aaron managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes, “he attacks when it’s dark. Lays in wait somewhere until she’s got her back to him, and then catches her from behind.”

“It fits the evidence we’ve got.” Aaron said, reaching out to take the case file from Rossi. They looked over the photos for a little longer, but there’s nothing else. The body was arranged with purpose, but they can’t get much from the photos. If they had seen the body in situ, they might have been able to get something more.

Rossi reclaimed the file, making a final note before slipping his notepad and pen back into his pocket. “Time to head back to the station, see if anything they’ve learned from the husband fits what we’ve got.”

Aaron didn’t bother to point out that what they had really wasn’t much more than they’d started out with. He wasn’t even sure it would help narrow down the profile all that much.

 

Ben was the only one in the conference room when they made it back to the station, a pile of files scattered over the table in front of him. Aaron had caught sight of Nancy at one of the desks in the bullpen, phone to her ear and a notepad in front of her. He guessed Katie and Hamilton were still interviewing.

“Anything interesting?” Rossi questioned, dropping his file onto the table.

Ben shook his head, “There’s a lot to go through, but I haven’t found anything yet.”

Aaron moved forward a little, close enough that he could read the covers of some of the files. They looked like financial records, which meant that Ben was likely looking for any signs of connections between the victims. It was something that could be done on computer Aaron guessed, but there were still a lot of people who preferred to do things the old fashioned way; he wouldn’t be surprises if some of the financial records only existed in paper form. There was also the fact it didn’t look like the Mountrail County Sheriff’s Department had many computers.

“Keep at it.” Rossi ordered and Ben nodded, though Aaron knew it was more out of habit than anything. The BAU researchers all knew what they were doing, better than some of the profilers, and Ben had worked with Rossi almost as much as Nancy had.

Rossi eyed the other files on the table for a moment before sorting them into piles and pushing one towards Aaron, “Go see Nancy, make sure that she hasn’t called any of these people yet, then start calling. Get as much information about the victim’s routines as possible.”

Aaron nodded, taking the pile from Rossi, and then searched out his own notes on the crime scenes for a reference point. Phone interviews were always interesting, but they saved time. He would make notes anyway, if any of them sounded like they might be holding back he could always ask them to come in for a more official interview.

He glanced at the clock, it was almost four in the afternoon, and with no fresh crime scene, Aaron suspected Rossi would order them to back to the motel before it got too late. There came a time when people wouldn’t be willing to answer their phones, let alone answer questions about a dead loved one.

 

Aaron had managed to speak to five people before Rossi had called it a day, gathered the team together and headed for the motel, which had turned out to be nicer than Aaron had expected. They’d eaten a quick meal together before they’d split up, and the first thing Aaron had done was call Haley.

It was an agreement they’d put in place when he’d first taken the position, knowing that at some point he was going to be travelling. He would call in the morning and the evening, fitting in other calls if he could, though he had to keep Haley’s work schedule in mind. They didn’t always talk for long, sometimes they barely spoke, but they both found it reassuring, and Haley didn’t have to worry about him.

He’d listened patiently as she’d detailed the events of her day, leaning back against the door of his room and letting the sound of her voice wash over him. He was fairly sure that she hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t really taken in anything she’d said.

Aaron had been up early, but he’d never managed to sleep past six anyway, not for years, and it gave him some time to look the files over again. He had a list of the notable aspects of each crime scene, from what he could see in the photos. He’d tried to profile the same way he had with all of his files, back in the bunker, but it took more effort to get beyond the fact there was so little physical evidence.

Aaron sighed, stabbing at a strange piece of scrambled egg. The diner next to the motel offered better food than some of the places Haley had taken him, and it was a whole lot cheaper.

“Did the egg do something to offend you?”

Aaron jumped, narrowly avoiding dropping his fork. He hadn’t heard Rossi approach, lost in thought as he’d been.

Rossi grinned, dropping into one of the chairs on the other side of the table and nodding to the waitress. He ordered quickly, thanking the woman as she handed him a mug of coffee. “It’s going to be another long day,” he commented before taking a long drink of his coffee and slumping in his chair a little. Aaron was more aware than ever of the weight of Rossi’s gaze.

“Hawkes is right, there’s really not much evidence.” Aaron commented, not really feeling like beating around the bush. They were hunting someone who had killed eighteen woman and hadn’t left much behind for them to work with.

It would have been nice to have an easier case for his first field investigation of a serial killer, even if there was a voice in the back of his head telling him that an easier case would have meant more victims and a much shorter amount of time.

Rossi shrugged, “There are more cases like this than people would like you to think. It’s like Jack the Ripper, guy barely left a shred of evidence, never got caught. The thing is, you take that case, you give the details to a profiler, and they’ll give you a profile. Odds are, if Jack the Ripper had gone on his killing spree a hundred years later, he’d’ve been caught.”

“You really think that?”

Rossi frowned, lowering his cup and eying Aaron for a long moment, “You don’t?”

Aaron shrugged, “Is a profile enough?”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, “Enough?”

“Once we have a working profile, and it leads us to a suspect, how do we prove they’re really the killer?” He’d been coming back to that all night; he’d lost cases because there hadn’t been enough evidence. It had been different with SWAT, partly because it hadn’t been something he’d needed to worry about, and partly because a lot of the people they’d been called in to take down had committed their crimes in front of witnesses.

Rossi leaned back in his chair a little more, and Aaron couldn’t help but wonder if the suspects, while being interviewed by Rossi, had felt the way he did just now. It wasn’t that he thought Rossi could see into his soul, it was more like Rossi was judging him, poking until he could figure out what made him tick. “We do the best we can.”

It was a better answer than Aaron had expected, more honest, more true. He knows if he were to ask Gideon, or Ryan, they’d tell him the profile was enough, but Aaron can list any number of cases where it wasn’t.

And then there are the cases where the profile was wrong. Or at least, if not wrong, had been used wrong. He knows, he’s seen, comparisons between the profile and the suspect who was finally caught, but he’s seen the original working as well. Profiling is a tool, and like any tool, it’s the way it’s used that’s important.

“You know, I might have to get in on that pool.” Rossi said.

“Which one?”

Rossi snorted, “The one about your shelf life.”

Aaron rolled his eyes; he was surprised that Rossi hadn’t already made a bet. “I’m not saying I don’t believe in what we do, it’s just…” Aaron stopped, not really sure how to put what he was feeling into words. He’d spent too long staring at pictures of murdered women the night before.

“You know, there’s a reason I always take a break, step back from the case,” Rossi was deliberately keeping his tone casual, but Aaron could hear the undertone of disapproval, “this job is hard, Hotchner. We spend so much time looking at some of the worst things imaginable, and getting into the heads of the people reasonable for them. It’s not pretty, but you’ve got to find a way to take a step back.”

Aaron didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t agree, not really, he didn’t work the way Rossi seemed to. He couldn’t take a step back, not completely, not while there was still work he could be doing. He could close himself off, look at it all objectively, but taking a break always seemed a little too much like failure. He wanted to know what it was that had made the unsub pick these women; wanted to find the connection that would give them some kind of evidence to support the profile they were building.

Rossi didn’t press him after that, either because he’d already made up his mind, or because he’d decided Aaron was a lost cause, Aaron wasn’t really sure.

Rossi hummed, drinking the last of his coffee and glancing at his watch, “Best finish up and head to the station.”


	3. Progress

**New York, 2010**

 _Some of them were easier to catch then others._

 _It was a matter of awareness; some looked down the side streets as they passed, others seemed to be aware of everything that happened around them. Some weren’t aware of anything other than themselves, texting or tweeting friends as they walked, not paying any attention to the other people around them._

 _The greater the awareness the person had, the more satisfying it was._

 _The woman looked up, spotting the figure in the doorway and moving to step around them, keeping a good distance. The figure let her pass, then slipped down a side street, hurrying to get to the next position before the woman did._

 _The baseball cap they’d been wearing was discarded on the way, along with the first top layer of jacket. It was important for that their prey didn’t recognise them as the same person they’d seen before. If that happened, the woman would panic and run. She would panic before she was supposed to._

 _They made it, just as the woman did, perfect timing. It was easy to keep walking forward, moving into the perfect position to take down their prey._

 

Ashley loitered by the window to the conference room that Daire had given over to the BAU, a mug of green tea warming her hands, watching as they worked. It was the same conference room she’d spent much of the past two weeks in, only there was no sign of Connors or Markham.

It was rude, she knew, to just stand there staring, her mother had taught her that much, but nobody had told her to move on yet, and she wasn’t really ready to step into the room. If there was one thing she’d learned at the crime scene, it was that these people were really good at remaining detached.

The whole time she’d been working this case, almost everyone involved had had an emotional reaction to it, on one level or another. It hadn’t ended well, she knows it was the emotion that had ultimately caused mistakes to be made, but she also couldn’t quite feel comfortable with people not having an emotional reaction.

She had a feeling, that if she stepped into that room, they’d be talking more about their ‘unsub’ than the victims. The victims whose names probably wouldn’t be mentioned all that much, but that wasn’t unusual.

“You all right kid?”

Ashley jumped, tea spilled onto her hands and dripping onto the floor, “Damnit.”

Donavon grinned, “Watching the experts work?”

Ashley sighed. It wasn’t worth glaring at him, or moaning about him sneaking up on her, he’d just do it more often, “Yeah.”

Donavon raised an eyebrow, moving to stand next to her properly, leaning back on the wall, but watching her instead of the occupants of the conference room, “Something bothering you?”

Ashley shrugged, “Just wondering how long it’ll take before I can look at a dead body the way they do.”

Donavon snorted, “Don’t let ‘em fool you, it bothers them just as much as you, they’ve just learned how to hide it.”

Ashley looked doubtful, choosing to take a sip of her tea rather than respond.

“The day it stops bothering you, when you walk onto a scene and think ‘oh look, another dead person’, that’s the time to retire.”

“Rossi retired didn’t he?” Ashley couldn’t resist, even as she watched an animated Reid drawing something on a map, the rest of his team watching with a kind of intensity that, had it been aimed at her, she would have found intimidating.

Donavon waved a hand in dismissal, “Way I figure it, that’s the only way to get to use your holiday time in their line of work.”

Ashley smiled despite herself, turning away from the window, “Should we go in?”

Donavon shook his head, “They don’t need us. We’re just here to answer questions and keep in touch with the locals.”

Ashley sighed, “And do the paperwork?”

Donavon grinned, patting her on the shoulder, “Got in one kid. Come on, Boss Lady dumped a pile on our desks a minute ago. We’ve still got to write up our reports on the shooting.”

Ashley made a face, but followed him back to their desks anyway. They’d answered all the questions the BAU had asked so far, and they could just come looking if they had any more. She’d take paperwork over watching other people work.

 

“You’re sure?”

Ashley listened to Donavon’s side of his phone call, watching as his expression turned grim, which could only mean one thing. They’d found another victim.

Donavon rang off with a promise that he’d be at the crime scene with the BAU as soon as humanly possible.

“Bad?” Ashley asked, already guessing what the answer would be. She _really_ missed white collar crime; she would take hours hunched over a spreadsheet over blood and gore any day.

Donavon nodded grimly, standing and grabbing his coat, “I’ve got to go round up some profilers, you keep on the lab for results. It’d be nice to be able to say what it was this SOB is using to strangle these girls.”

Ashley nodded, resting a hand on her phone and watching him hurry off. She slumped once he was out of sight. She couldn’t phone again, not yet, it had barely been an hour since she’d last called. TV had so given her false expectations when it came to how long tests took.

And about how many tests it took.

And how accurate the results were.

Ashley scowled at the file in front of her, the word ‘inconclusive’ taunting her.

Yet another reason to miss white collar. She’d been able to do pretty much all of the work herself, running down all the records and gathering everything for a case. She’d never had to wait for a test to come back to give her answers.

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck idly, still staring at the open file. They knew how the victims had died, what wounds had been made, but they didn’t know what had been used. All they knew was that is was ‘something sharp, probably a knife’, and more importantly, they didn’t know who had wielded it.

She flicked through until she reached one of the stills from the camera footage. It showed a figure, of no clear gender or race, wearing dark clothes. All they could really say was the figure was of average height, and slim build, which really didn’t help narrow down a suspect list.

Ashley sighed again before grabbing her mug and pushing back from her desk. She needed a break, and maybe afterwards she’d go down to the lab herself. Maybe, if she was there in person, they would be more willing to give her something.

Ashley came to a halt as she stepped into the break room, catching sight of a weary looking Agent Jareau. It wasn’t a surprise the other woman had stayed behind. From what little Ashley had picked up in the hours since the BAU team had arrived, Jareau wasn’t a profiler, she was their media liaison. It wasn’t a job that Ashley would have ever chosen. It was bad enough being judged by her co-workers and family, without having to face down the media day in day out, with a smile and a couple of carefully crafted sentences.

Jareau looked up from her contemplation of the coffee machine, offering Ashley a friendly smile, “Agent Seaver.”

“Agent Jareau.” Ashley offered Jareau her best attempt at a bright smile, which wasn’t great. After weeks of working a case with no lead, but an increasing number of victims, Ashley was finding it hard to feel positive. Even pretending to be positive was hard.

Ashley could feel the other woman watching her as she set about making herself another drink, sticking to green tea. Coffee was fine, if she wasn’t working a case that was likely to keep at her at the office well past her normal hours. Too much coffee and she would never manage to sneak the odd hour of sleep whenever she could.

“This is your first isn’t it?”

Ashley narrowly managed to avoid pouring hot water onto herself. She hadn’t been expecting the other woman to break the silence. “My first?” Ashley turned, abandoning her mug and the half finished tea, focusing on Jareau.

Jareau smiled again, “Your first serial killer.”

Ashley felt her cheeks heat up, “Is it that obvious?”

Jareau shook her head, “The look on your face when you came in? I’ve seen it a lot since I joined the BAU.” She paused for a beat before she spoke again, her voice softer, “It’s not a bad thing.”

Ashley relaxed a little, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this tense, it was stupid, “Do you miss it?”

Jareau frowned, “Miss it?”

Ashley shrugged, “Do you miss not knowing? I mean, you see it all on the news, but it’s not the same as actually _seeing_ it.”

“Sometimes, but, most of the time, it’s worth it. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

It was such an honest answer, and Ashley managed a real smile in reply, before she turned back to finish her tea. Dumping the used teabag into the trash, she hesitated before rooting through the cupboards. She hadn’t eaten all that much at lunch, and she had made sure to stash a collection of snacks in the cupboards, hidden behind things that were so far out of date they were probably older than the field office itself.

It didn’t take long for her to find one of the boxes of animal crackers.

She turned back to Agent Jareau, offering her the box, “Animal cracker?”

The other woman laughed, shaking her head, “I’m fine, thanks.”

Ashley hesitated for a moment, before deciding that she might as well ask. It only seemed fair after all, “How are things going?”

Jareau shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee and leaning her hip against the table, “Slow, though we have a few theories.”

“That’s good.” It was, provided the BAUs theories didn’t turn out the way that the police theory had. Ashley wasn’t sure if she could stand running into even more dead ends in the investigation.

Jareau canted her head, “Hopefully.”

“Agent Morgan said, at the fourth crime scene, he said it reminded him of something.” Ashley knew she was pushing, but she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t like sitting around, chasing up reports and filling out paperwork while a killer was still free. A killer they should have caught already.

Jareau hesitated, grimacing, “He thinks there might be a connection to an old case. There are some similarities in the MO.”

“I’m sensing a but.” Ashley commented dryly, and Jareau shrugged.

“It’s a pretty old case, you know the Redmond Ripper?”

The bottom dropped out of Ashley’s stomach, and she just stared at the other woman for a long moment before she forced herself to nod. “I’ve heard of him, he killed 25 women, right?”

Jareau nodded, “It was a BAU case, Rossi and Hotch were on the team that caught him.”

“Morgan thinks our killer is a copycat?” Ashley was fighting hard against the urge to panic. This was all kinds of bad. Once she’d finished her tea, without acting suspiciously around a member of the BAU, she had to find Daire. Though she had the feeling she’d already blown the ‘not acting suspiciously’ part.

Jareau shrugged, “It’s a theory.” She glanced at her watch and grimaced, “I really should be getting back.”

Ashley managed a smile, watching as Jareau topped up her coffee before heading out to the conference room. Ashley moved to drop into a chair, resting her elbows on her knees and covering her face with her hands.

This couldn’t be happening.

 

By the time she finished her tea, she had finally managed to process what Jareau had told her. More specifically, she now knew why Hotchner had seemed so familiar. She’d seen him before, maybe even met him before.

It was weird. She could remember talking to Rossi, watching him interact with her mother and brother, distracting them from the sight of her father being hauled off. He hadn’t changed all that much since then, other than gaining a little weight, a few extra lines on his face and grey hair. She knew she’d changed since then, changed drastically. Then again, she hadn’t yet hit puberty when her father had been arrested.

The problem was, over the years she’d done her best to forget everything that had happened back then. Her father’s arrest, being questioned, everything leading up to the trial. She’d wanted to move past it, and the best way to do that seemed to be to forget.

She wondered if she’d forgotten anyone else.

She sighed, standing slowly and carrying her mug over to the sink. She rinsed it out carefully and placed it on the drainer. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and forcing back the panic.

It took a minute or two before she felt brave enough to open her eyes, then she straightened, squared her shoulders and started her journey to Daire’s office.

 

The problem with Daire’s office being where it was, in full sight of the bullpen, was that you couldn’t stand in front of it and have a nervous breakdown before you knocked. Ashley took a deep breath, aware of how exposed she was, then knocked. She clasped her hands in front of her, waiting until she heard Daire call out for her to enter.

Daire looked up from the file that she had open on the desk in front of her as Ashley stepped into the room, the door clicking closed after a moment, “Agent Seaver.”

“Agent MacTaggart, there’s something you need to know,” Ashley said, letting the words out in a rush, “it relates to the case.”

Daire frowned, “And you haven’t mentioned it before….”

Ashley felt her face heat up, and she fought the urge to duck her head, she was going to face this, no matter how painful it was, “I didn’t know it was relevant until Agent Jareau told me about the theory the BAU are currently looking into.”

Daire shifted in her seat, resting her elbows on her desk and leaning her chin against her hands, “Go on.”

“They think the killer, the unsub, might be copying the Redmond Ripper….”

“Your father,” Daire interpreted, and Ashley stuttered to a stop, staring blankly at her boss. She’d thought no one knew. She hadn’t told anyone in the office, hadn’t ever mentioned it to anyone she worked with, not since the Academy and the things two of the other cadets had said. She hadn’t wanted it hanging over her.

“Ma’am?”

Daire rolled her eyes, standing and rounded her desk to herd Ashley to one of the visitor’s chairs, “Sit down.”

Ashley sat, wincing a little, and Daire settled into the chair next to her, expression sombre.

“I’ve read your file, Ashley,” Ashley shivered a little at that, surprised that Daire was using her given name, even if she knew why, “it mentions your father.”

“Oh,” Ashley felt her cheeks heat up again, and ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward to cover her face. She couldn’t believe that she’d never thought about that. It made sense, and it was something that was relevant to her work, even if she wished it weren’t. The background check they’d run on her before she’d joined the bureau would have turned it up, along with the time she’d spent seeing a counselor as a teenager.

Daire sighed, leaning back in her chair a little, expression thoughtful, “We’ll have to tell the BAU, if that’s the theory they’re working on. I know there have been cases where the child of a serial killer has taken to copycatting their parent.”

Ashley nodded along, feeling a little faint, trying to remember where she’d been on the nights when the victims had been killed. She couldn’t really remember, she’d probably been home. She didn’t really go out all that much, but she wasn’t sure. She’d need to prove where she’d been, if she was a suspect now.

“Ashley,” Daire placed a hand over Ashley’s, squeezing, drawing her attention, “considering the fact that you’ve come here to tell me, as soon as being made aware of the potential conflict of interest, I think it’s highly unlikely you’re the unsub we’ve been hunting.”

Ashley gave a little hiccup of a laugh, shaking her head.

Daire sighed again, “I can go back to calling you Seaver if you would be happier.”

That shocked Ashley into looking up into her boss’s eyes, and she was surprised by the look of exasperated protectiveness on Daire’s face. She’d just possibly confessed to being a serial killer, and her boss was scolding her like her mother used to. Clearly, she’d stepped into the twilight zone or something.

“Ashley’s fine,” she managed after a moment, before ducking her head again, “I guess, whatever happens, this means I’m off the case?”

Daire sat back, her eyebrows rising, “That’s what is probably going to happen,” she agreed, though there was something else in her tone that Ashley couldn’t quite figure out. Daire stood, moving to her desk and picking up her phone, dialling the extension for the security desk, “Have Agent Donavon and the BAU team returned yet?”

Ashley watched as Daire nodded along to whatever the agent on the other end of the line was saying, glancing at her watch and frowning, “Thank you.” Daire hung up and turned back to Ashley, crossing her arms over her stomach and leaning back against her desk, “They’ve just walked through the door.”

Ashley nodded, breathing carefully through her nose, reminding herself that she really didn’t want to panic. Daire didn’t say anything else, giving Ashley time to calm herself.

“It’s very likely they will want to keep you in for questioning, if that happens, I will be in the room with you,” Daire paused for a moment before adding, “and you can ask for a lawyer if you want one.”

Ashley closed her eyes, clenching her hands into fists for a moment before she released a long breath and forced herself to focus, straightening in her chair and meeting Daire’s gaze steadily, “I won’t ask for a lawyer.”

Daire offered her a faint smile, “You can always change your mind.”

 

Daire made a point of giving the BAU time to get upstairs and discuss their findings, asking Ashley questions about how she’d been finding working violent crimes while they waited, and Ashley appreciated it. It wasn’t what she’d expected Daire to do, she’d expected to get treated like a suspect, had expected to find herself on the receiving end of Daire’s interrogation. It was a nice surprise.

As they headed to the conference room, Ashley trailed behind Daire, mentally reciting a mantra, reminding herself not to show any weakness, or to act guilty in any way. It wasn’t her fault he father had killed people. It definitely wasn’t her fault that someone had decided to copy him.

She just wished that she were still in Denver, though she thought she might still have heard about this case. The BAU would have questioned where she, her brother and her mother were.

The thing bothering her, ultimately, was the fact that her wilful ignorance of just what her father had done to the women he killed was the reason that she hadn’t known to ask to be taken off the case before. She’d never thought that knowing the details would ever do anything but give her nightmares.

Ashley glanced sideways as they passed the picture window, catching glimpses of the team as they worked around the table, laptops open and files scattered across the surface of the table. Reid was still drawing on his map, just in a different colour this time.

Daire pushed the door open, holding it for Ashley to step through before allowing it to swing closed behind them. It only took a moment for the profilers to pick up on the undercurrent and stop working, turning their focus on Ashley and Daire.

“Agent MacTaggart?” Hotchner straightened from where he’d been leaning over the desk, comparing files, his expression grim. Ashley somehow managed not to squirm under that dark gaze.

“There are some things that you need to be aware of.”

Ashley almost cringed. It sounded like Daire had been holding something back from them, when she hadn’t been, Hotchner’s expression had darkened, somehow, at those words.

“I was under the impression that you had given us all of the relevant information.”

Jareau and Reid exchanged a look behind Hotchner’s back, Reid’s cheeks colored a little, while Morgan and Prentiss locked gazes for a moment. Donavon, who had been sitting with Rossi towards the back of the room stood slowly, his gaze fixed on Ashley. Ashley swallowed hard, ducking her head a little, Donavon didn’t know, she hadn’t told him and if he’d known from reading her file, he would have told the BAU.

She didn’t know if the fact that she’d never actually lied made it better or worse. When he’d asked about her parents she told him about her mother, had said that she didn’t talk to her father anymore.

It wasn’t a lie. But in that moment, standing waiting for Daire to speak, Ashley felt like she’d betrayed Donavon’s trust.

“You have all of our case files, this is actually about something else,” Daire looked at Ashley finally, and she knew then that Daire wasn’t going to tell them. Daire wanted Ashley to tell them herself.

She wanted to run so badly, but this wasn’t something that she could run away from. Life was like that, her father had taught her that at least, there’s no running from bad things.

“Agent Jareau told me that you think the unsub might be copying the Redmond Ripper,” Ashley didn’t want to get the other woman in trouble, but she knew they would want to know how she had heard their theory, their unshared outside of their group theory.

She saw Rossi shift in his seat out of the corner of her eye, saw him frown, but she focused on Hotchner and his unreadable expression. There was no judgement there, not that she could see, and it made it easier to say what she needed to, “I….” she stopped, struggling with how to word it, then decided to just say it, “The Redmond Ripper, he’s my father.”

Reid almost dropped his pen, “Charles Beauchamp?”

Ashley nodded, “Is my father.”

“Seaver was your mother’s maiden name,” Hotchner supplied, and Ashley looked back at him, nodding.

Donavon whistled, “Damn, when you said you didn’t talk to your father, I’d just figured your parents had divorced messily, or he’d disapproved of your lifestyle choices.”

Ashley blushed, shifting a little. While it was nice that Donavon didn’t seem to care that she hadn’t told him her father was a serial killer, she wished he hadn’t brought up her sexuality in a room full of profilers. “I haven’t spoken to him since just before his trial.”

Donavon nodded, “It’s a damn good reason not to talk to a parent.”

Ashley half laughed, hyperaware of the tension in the room. Donavon could joke, but Ashley could see the profilers taking in this new piece of information. She saw Prentiss glance at a crime scene photo, while Morgan was staring at Ashley with just a little less intensity than Hotchner.

“I’m a suspect,” Ashley said, meeting Donavon’s gaze, refusing to flinch, “if this is a copycat of my father, I’m a suspect.”

Donavon sobered a little, “I know kid.”

Hotchner looked at Daire for a moment before moving towards Ashley, “You’re right, you are a suspect.”

Rossi moved, coming closer, and Ashley wondered if both of them were kicking themselves for not recognising her. “You have an interrogation room we can use?”

Daire nodded, “Of course.”

Rossi and Hotchner exchanged a brief look before Rossi touched her upper arm, “Come on kid, let’s get you situated.”

 

 **Mountrail County, North Dakota: 1996**

 _The snow made things more interesting._

 _In the past, before, the blood had darkened the surrounding soil from brown to black. Sometimes it had tainted grass or leaves or bushes, but mostly it was the soil._

 _Snow, snow melted. The spurt of blood from the first cut; the cut they had so perfected that it left the victim alive, for just long enough for them to watch the horror and pain and helplessness on the girl’s faces as they faded away into the dark; that blood melted the snow, leaving a little gully behind._

 _The blood from the next two cuts melted more snow, leaving little pockmarks. They toyed with it, experimenting a little, seeing if blood from different places had different effects on the snow. It didn’t, though it had a different effect on the girl._

 _Towards the end, when they were arranging the last little pieces, the snow didn’t melt. It soaked up the blood like soil, the snow turning dark, until it was almost black._

 

“I used to help her with her taxes every year,” Veronica Kemp’s accountant, Aaron’s fifteenth interview of the day, shook his head sadly, “she was such a nice person, I can’t imagine why anyone would ever want to hurt her.”

“Did she ever mention having problems with anyone to you?” It seemed a strange thing to be asking someone’s accountant, but it was a rural community, and from what the man had said so far he’d known Veronica for a few years before he’d started helping her with her taxes. They’d exchanged cards every Christmas, gone to the same social events, lived a street apart for almost ten years.

“No…well, she had trouble with her family from time to time, but it was just normal family issues you know? Her mom kept pushing her to consider having kids, stuff like that.” The accountant shrugged helplessly, “My wife has similar arguments with my mother in law all the time, she’s always asking when she’s going to get more grandkids.”

Aaron nodded, offering the man a sympathetic smile, “Well, unless there’s anything else you can think of, we’re done.”

The man shook his head, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“You’ve helped, the more information we have about Veronica, the more we have to work with. I’ll give you my card, so if you think of anything else, just call me.” Aaron handed over a card from the pile that Nancy had provided him with first thing, then shook the man’s hand.

Aaron watched as the man walked out of the station before turning back to his files and adding one last note under the man’s name. He sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily before pulling the next file towards him. He’d spoken to most of the people who had known Veronica Kemp, either over the phone or in person, but he still had the friends and relatives of five more victims to talk to.

Hamilton and Nancy were talking to the friends and relatives of the other eight older victims, while Katie and Rossi focused on the latest cases, helping the sheriff canvass the areas around the crime scenes. It was a long shot, hoping that they would find a witness who had least seen the victim with someone close to the crime scenes, but they couldn’t afford not to check.

Interviews with friends and family could only get them so much. Aaron sighed, running down his list of what they would normally use to develop a suspect list. People close to the victims were always on the list, but in these small rural communities, everyone seemed to know everyone else. It made for a long list.

They were working on the assumption that it was a man, female serial killers being in the minority, and the MO didn’t fit any of the typical motives of female serial killers. Nothing had been taken from the victims, the stabbing and mutilation suggested the unsub had taken some sexual gratification from the crimes.

It didn’t really give them much to offer to the Sheriff, as far as reducing his suspect list went, and from what the Sheriff had said, they didn’t have a suspect list, just a list of everyone over eighteen who lived in the county.

Aaron sighed again, glancing at his notepad. He had fifteen minutes until his next interviewee was due to turn up, and he needed coffee badly. Standing he made his way over to Nancy, waiting for her to finish on the phone before he picked up her coffee cup, “Coffee?”

Nancy made a face, “I wouldn’t call it coffee, but it’s the only thing keeping me going.”

Aaron laughed, “I know what you mean. Anything interesting yet?”

Nancy shook her head, “Audrey Taylor didn’t like her neighbour’s dog, that’s about the most interesting piece of information I’ve heard today. Nothing else has really stood out.”

“Just lots of people telling saying that they still can’t believe that someone would have wanted to kill such a nice person.” Aaron said and Nancy smiled.

“I guess you managed to avoid of lot of this stuff when you were a lawyer huh?”

Aaron tilted his head to one side, considering, “Not really. The families of victims tend to always focus on how good a person the victim was, how underserving of what happened to them, but that usually helped when I was presenting a case to a jury. Now it’s the opposite. We’re looking for reasons why someone might have wanted to kill them, things that would have made them a target.”

Nancy nodded, “It’s a bit depressing really.”

“It is,” Aaron agreed, “but someone has to do it. I’ll go get you that coffee.”

 

Rossi appeared at Aaron’s side just as he put the phone down, another interview finished, “Come on kid, we’re gathering in the conference room to review what we have so far.”

Aaron nodded, gathering his files and notes together as Rossi headed over to Hamilton, then Nancy, telling them the same. It took less than five minutes for them all to gather, Ben offering them all a weak smile from behind his stack of financial reports. Katie perched herself on the edge of the table while the rest of them spaced themselves out around the room.

Aaron didn’t sit, he’d been sitting down for pretty much the whole morning, he wasn’t going to waste a chance to stretch his legs a little.

Rossi waited for them all to settle before he spoke, leaning against the wall across from the door, “The canvass hasn’t turned up any witnesses yet.”

“Everyone was tucked up inside their houses, no one seems to have driven past the crime scenes during the time frames we have for the murders, and no one was in the area,” Katie supplied, her frustration tainting the words.

“Friends and family all say the same thing,” Hamilton said, while Aaron and Nancy nodded their agreement, “they were nice women, and they can’t think of anything they might have done to make them targets for this unsub.”

Rossi sighed, “That’s about what we expected.”

Aaron had a bad feeling he knew what Rossi was going to say next, and he wished that he didn’t agree.

“We need more information.” Rossi said.

“More victims.” Aaron added before he could catch himself, and Katie reached out to pat his arm.

“More victims.” Rossi agreed, “we need to see a crime scene intact, with the body still in place, photos and visits after the fact can only get us so much.”

A door slammed somewhere in the station, and Aaron knew that they were about to get what they needed; another victim, another woman dead who would be described by their friends and family as an innocent, underserving of such a horrific death.

He’d thought this job would help him, that helping to capture criminals before they could hurt more people would take away from of the frustration and helplessness that he’d felt in court. The truth was, he was learning, there was always a point when you felt helpless, when nothing you did seemed to be good enough.

The difference was, as a lawyer he’d never seen the blood up close and personal. There’d been a distance between him and the crime that had been committed. And the problem was, he could never go back, not now. He’d never be able to stand back, separate himself from the victims.

In court he had never thought ‘this ends with this victim’, not in the same way. He was thinking that then, as he turned towards the door, watching as Hawkes stepped into the room. The sheriff’s face spoke for him, before he said the words, “They just found two more bodies.”

Aaron sat down, hard, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t quite think of anything to say at the moment that wasn’t a curse word.

“Two?” Katie had paled a little beneath her make-up.

Hawkes nodded, “Only one of them is recent.”

Rossi’s expression was grim, “What about the other body?”

“It’s old, how old, I can’t tell you exactly, but from what came over dispatch, it seems they almost didn’t recognise it as a body.” Hawkes shook his head.

“The unsub killed somewhere that someone else had already died?” Hamilton spoke up, “Why?”

“He killed in the same place twice,” Katie corrected, exchanging a look with Rossi, “to show us where the other body was.”

Aaron winced, rubbing his face with one hand, mentally reciting a list of killers who had deliberately interacted with the people investigating their crimes. Showing the investigators what they could do, what they had done.

Showing them what they’d missed.

He looked up at Hawkes, watching the emotions play across the man’s face. It couldn’t be a nice feeling, knowing that there had been a body lying unfound for so long, being shown a failure that you hadn’t even been aware of. Aaron could guess just what the thoughts running through Hawkes’ head were. He’d have been thinking the same kind of thing if it were him.

Sometimes, you could do everything right and still fail. And when that happened, all you could think was it wasn’t good enough.

 

It was the worst crime scene Aaron had seen, but he didn’t throw up. Hamilton did, hurrying across the road to join a deputy, leaning over the ditch as far from the crime scene as they could get.

Katie stood next to Rossi, her fists clenched against her hips, while Rossi dug his notepad out of his pocket, noting things down in red pen as he spoke to the medical examiner. Aaron edged in closer, careful to step in the same places as the deputies had before.

The smell almost made him gag as he reached Katie’s side, and he swallowed hard against it, clenching his own hands into fists in his pockets. He could never understand how so many killers managed to do what they did without throwing up.

Never understood how they could be prepared for the smell.

Rossi finished talking to the medical examiner, then turned to Aaron and Katie, glancing in Hamilton’s direction before focusing on just the two of them, “The older body is at least two years old, there’s not all that much left to see.”

Aaron glanced behind Rossi, to the skeletal hand he could see, a few feet away from the fresh body. The bodies seemed to have been laid in identical poses. Arms outstretched, legs pushed apart enough that the unsub could kneel between them. But it was hard to focus on the similarities.

Looking at the older body, what was left of it, there wasn’t the same sense of violence, the same oppressive sense of something wrong that he felt when he looked at the newer body. The effect of the scene had faded with time.

Maybe that was why the unsub had felt the need to kill again in the same place.

“It’s the same pose,” Aaron said, knowing that it was a safe observation, one Rossi couldn’t question or pick apart. Katie snorted, giving him a sidelong look, and he forced himself to voice the second part of that thought, “but it doesn’t have the same effect.”

Rossi’s eyebrows rose, and he fished in his pocket for his other pen, “The same effect?”

Aaron nodded to the older body, “It’s not as shocking. It should be because they were killed in pretty much the same way, it looks like the unsub mutilated both bodies, but it isn’t.”

“So you think he killed in the same place so that the scene would evoke a specific reaction?” Rossi asked, “Not just to prove he’s better than us?”

Aaron frowned. There was a part of him that wondered if maybe, this was less about the unsub showing off, and more about the unsub’s show.

“Well?” Rossi pressed, his grip on the pen tightening.

“It could be more about the show,” Aaron motioned towards the closer body, “the way he poses them, spreading their hair out, the varied mutilations to the bodies. If the unsub isn’t doing it to create a certain effect, why is he doing it?”

“That’s a good question.” Rossi looked past Aaron, “Welcome back Daye, nothing left to come up?”

Aaron glanced at Hamilton, watching the other man’s eye twitch. It wasn’t like Hamilton was the first person to throw up at the sight of a bad crime scene, and it wasn’t like he’d been alone. Aaron looked further back, where the deputy was kneeling now, his back still to the crime scene. Hamilton remained silent, not taking the bait.

“He brings his own weapons to the scene,” Katie said, giving Rossi a pointed look, “which suggests organised, the same as the other crime scenes.”

Rossi nodded, “He has to know something about the schedule of his victims, there’s no way he just happens to be at the right place at the right time. He has a plan.”

“He knows the area,” Hamilton said, motioning at their surroundings, “and he knows that no one is likely to be out here at this time, other than his intended victims. So he has to be a local.”

“He travels locally a lot,” Aaron took up the point where Hamilton had left off, “his kills are spaced around the whole of Mountrail County. It took us forty minutes to get here from the station, heading in the opposite direction from the other crime scene we visited.”

“And he must have a reason to be doing all that travelling,” Katie said, “otherwise someone would have mentioned something to us. This many people die in an area like this, people are going to be a lot more suspicious of each other, but no one has come forward to offer us tales of the suspicious behaviour of a neighbour or loved one.”

“So he seems harmless, normal,” Rossi said, “he’s organised enough that he knows when he can kill and where, far enough ahead of time to have a solid plan.”

Aaron eyed the distance between the road and the body, looking for any sign of a worn path between the two, “He’s physically fit, to pull the victim this far from the road.”

“But not so much that he’s intimidating,” Katie added, “and he’s either sneaking up on these women, or he’s tricking them, walking with them to this point, then striking.”

“He remembers where he dumps the bodies,” Rossi motioned behind himself, “and he knows where to leave them so they could be found, but not immediately.”

Aaron frowned, “Apart from with this victim, the body is a little closer to the road, on the rise. It’s visible from the road; if he hadn’t wanted her found so soon, all he needed to do was move the body a foot further from the road.”

“So, he wants them found now,” Rossi frowned, “which suggests some progression.”

“Only we don’t have evidence of progression, not in the way they were killed,” Katie argued, “all of them seem to have been killed the same way, first they were strangled, then he sliced the throat before he mutilated them as they bled out. But the cut to the throat, it’s precise, he cuts deep, but not so deep that they bleed out quickly. He _wants_ them to die slowly and in pain, and he’s perfected his MO to guarantee it.”

“This is the shortest period between kills,” Hamilton said, “the last victim was killed less than two weeks ago, before he went months between kills.”

“As far as we know,” Aaron nodded to the bodies, “there could be more bodies that haven’t been discovered yet.”

“Wouldn’t they have told us if they had a lot of missings?” Hamilton sounded doubtful, looking back at the patrol cars.

Katie sighed, shaking her head, “People go missing, sometimes people leave without telling anyone, it happens. Add in people passing though, there’s a lot of potential for unknown victims. Think about how many John and Jane Doe bodies there are.”

“The victims we know of, it seems like he’s had a plan, he knows their schedule, that’s his type.” Rossi said.

“So we go through the missings, see if we can find any that could be victims?” Aaron asked, knowing even as he said it, that it would be a lot of work. They had victims spanning nine years, allowing for there to be earlier, less evolved killings; they would have to look at over a decade’s worth of missing person files.

“And see if the Sheriff can spare some men to poke around the edges of towns, see if they can find anymore bodies,” Katie nodded at the houses to their left, just around the bend of the road, “none of the victims have been found at any real distance from civilisation.”

“But far enough away that it takes time for people to notice them.” Rossi agreed.

“Maybe that’s how he feels,” Hamilton said, “like people don’t notice him.”

Katie frowned, “No, he’s organised, he goes unnoticed because he wants to go unnoticed.”

“And yet, he’s started placing the bodies where they can be found, and he’s drawing attention to the victims we didn’t know about.” Rossi shook his head, “Here’s hoping this doesn’t mean he’s devolving.”

“If he is, we’ll know,” Katie said grimly, “and he’s already killed twice this month as it is.”

Rossi took a breath, “I think it’s time we deliver our profile, catch this guy before he can show us either way. I do not want to see another crime scene like this anytime soon.”


	4. Interviews

**New York: 2010**

There was one question that people had always asked Ashley, when they learned who her father was and what he’d done.

How hadn’t she known?

There had been times when all she’d wanted to do was throw the question back at them, ask how _could_ she have known? She’d been a baby when he’d first started killing. There had never been a point in her life when she’d suddenly noticed her father acting strangely. He’d just been himself. That had never changed.

She could remember, as a child, spending time in her friend’s homes, interacting with their parents. She’d noticed that their fathers didn’t act the same way hers did, but there had been differences between all of them. Some had been more affectionate, others had been stricter. She’d asked her mom once, out of curiosity, and her mom had just told her everyone was different. They had different beliefs, different approaches to the same things. There was nothing strange about that.

So she’d watched other people. She hadn’t always been subtle, she knows. One of her teachers had scolded her for it once, but in the end she’d decided that her mom had been right.

No one acted exactly like anyone else.

She sighed, and it echoed a little in the room. She still couldn’t quite accept what was happening, what they were telling her. Someone was copying her father. Repeating the crimes that had made her childhood so painful.

She wondered, briefly, if this would be the time for her to start to doubt her father’s guilt.

If there was someone copying her father, if they were mimicking every part of his crimes, as much as they could given they’d chosen to do it in New York, maybe he hadn’t killed those women.

Maybe the BAU had caught the wrong person.

But they hadn’t. She _knew_ her father had been guilty.

She probably knew that better than anyone. She could still remember what he’d told her, the last time she’d seen him. How being caught had been the best day of his life.

Those words had lost their sting over the years, but as a child she’d never been hurt so badly as when her father had spoken those words.

He hadn’t been perfect, but she’d loved him; he’d been her father, her hero. She could remember him telling her that her birth had been one of the best days of his life. She knew he’d only said that because it was what fathers said, but as a child, those words had meant a lot to her.

It hadn’t been unusual for her father to come home late, but sometimes he had seemed lighter somehow. On those occasions, which happened once or twice a year, he would sit down on the couch with her, holding her hand while he told her elaborate stories about what he’d been doing that day. None of them had been true; she’d known that his job was boring, but she’d loved being on the receiving end of all that attention.

She could remember one of those times, when he’d come home and there had been blood on the cuff of his shirt. She knew it had still been wet, could remember how it had brushed her cheek as she’d hurried forward to greet her father. What she hadn’t known at the time was that it was a dead woman’s blood she was washing off her face that night.

Ashley shuddered, resting her elbows on the table in front of her and covering her face with her hands. The interrogation room was cool, cooler than the rest of the building, and she knew that was deliberate. They could heat it up if they wanted, if they wanted a suspect to be comfortable.

It had been a while since Daire had led her into the room; she thought it might have been hours, but she couldn’t tell. There wasn’t a clock in the room, and she didn’t have her watch. She had tried to nap for a while, but despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t.

She knew that was the point. She could still remember those sessions at the academy, being told about interview techniques, and which ones worked best on certain types of offenders. She wondered if Hotchner would bring a box in with him; the case files from all five murders would probably fill one.

She glanced up at the mirror, wondering if they were standing on the other side watching her, gauging her reactions. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what her reactions were telling them.

The door opened then, and Daire stepped inside with a grim looking Hotchner, who was carrying a collection of files in his hands. She knew those files, she’d been reading through them herself, had even written some of the contents. She wondered if that would affect how they choose to interview her.

There was a moment when they stood across the table from her staring each other down, before Daire silently picked up one of the chairs and carried it over to the wall. Hotchner watched her, waiting for her to sit before he pulled out the other chair and sat down himself.

No one said anything.

Ashley was very aware of her own heartbeat then, and she wondered if they could hear it too; if they could read her nervousness or if they were reading it as guilt.

“I have a few questions I need to ask you.” Hotchner said, and Ashley managed to nod instead of just staring dumbly at him. She understood there was a ritual to these things, but she’d already known he was going to ask her questions, without him telling her.

She was also aware that lack of sleep was probably impairing her judgement. She just hoped they would let her sleep once they were done.

“Why did you change your name from Beauchamp to Seaver?”

Ashley frowned. She guessed that one was meant as a control question, “Because I didn’t want to be associated with my father. After he was arrested, people treated us differently, they judged us because of him.” She could remember the things people had painted on their house, on her mom’s car. She wanted to hate them for it, had wanted to hate her father, but she couldn’t.

“How did you feel about that?”

Ashley shrugged, “Sometimes, I wanted to be angry, but mostly I just felt guilty. When they asked how we’d lived with him and never known, it made me feel guilty. I spent years wondering why I didn’t see it, why I hadn’t stopped him.”

“Do you still feel that way?” Ashley knew he was pitching his voice carefully, using it to soothe her, reassure her. It was another part of the interview technique he was using. The only thing, she could remember him now, that tone, it had triggered a memory of that same voice, years ago. She blinked back tears; she wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t.

She took a shaky breath, squared her shoulders and met his gaze, “I know it wasn’t my fault. I still feel guilty, I’ll probably always wonder if it could have been different, but it happened and I can’t change it.”

“Do you know the details of your father’s case?” Hotchner’s tone didn’t give anything away.

“All I know is what was on the news. I’ve never looked him up; I never wanted to know the details.”

Hotchner’s eyes narrowed a little and Ashley fought not to flinch. He wasn’t really trying to be intimidating, but there was a weight to his gaze that made her uncomfortable. It was almost like he could see into her soul. “What do you know about what your father did to the women he killed?”

It was phrased not to be leading, she could tell, but she struggled. She hadn’t really known anything beyond ‘he killed women’, but now it was a more difficult question to answer. She knew what their unsub had done to the women they had murdered.

“Agent Seaver.” Hotchner’s voice gained an edge, and she winced. She’d taken too long to answer.

“Until Agent Jareau mentioned Agent Morgan’s theory, all I knew was that my father killed twenty five women. I had an idea that he had done so violently, but I didn’t know any more than that.” She paused, swallowing hard before forcing herself to continue, “Now, I guess I know what he did. He strangled them, then slit their throats,” she hesitated, taking deep breathes through her nose, forcing back the desire to throw up, “and while they were still alive, he mutilated them.”

She clasped her hands together on her lap; it was the only way she could think of to stop them from shaking so much. When the silence started to feel oppressive she looked up, meeting his gaze properly for the first time since he had walked into the room. She almost thought she saw a flash of sympathy in them, just for a moment.

“Why are the names of the victims so important to you?” He asked.

Ashley stared at him for a moment before she shook her head, “No one ever seems to remember them. No one can ever name any of my father’s victims, it doesn’t seem fair.”

“You want to remember the victims’ names?”

Ashley sighed, glaring at him, frustration suddenly seeming to overtake her fear, “Yes. The only way I’ve been able to get through these past six months, looking at dead bodies, is by making it about the victims. It shouldn’t be about the murderers, unsubs, whatever you want to call them.” She shook her head, “It’s about catching them before they can kill again. It’s about me having the chance to do what I couldn’t as a child. I might not have chosen this job, but I’m not going to let my past hold me back.”

Hotchner’s eyebrows rose, just a little, and his jaw clenched. She thought he was impressed, or maybe he had gas, it was hard to tell. She would hate to play him at poker, “I didn’t kill those women, but someone else did. Someone who for some sick, twisted, insane reason thinks what my father did is a good thing to imitate.”

“Can you tell me where you were on the nights of the murders?” His voice had softened again, back to the same tone he’d been using at first. She wondered if anyone had ever punched him for using that tone.

“I was at home, at work, or out with my,” she hesitated, considering saying friend or roommate, before she decided that she didn’t care what he thought, “girlfriend. There’s a camera on the entrance to my building, all of the entrances, and there are cameras here.”

He didn’t react, the same as he hadn’t reacted to any of her answers really, “What about your brother?”

Ashley froze, staring at him, “Charlie? He’s in L.A., he’s at college.” She swallowed hard, straightening in the chair, fighting to pull back her anger, “My mom lives there now as well. We moved around, after; mom wanted to put some distance between us and the ghost of our father.”

Hotchner nodded, “We’re going to have to confirm that.”

“I know,” she sounded weary, even to her own ears, but she couldn’t stay angry. He was asking her these questions because he had to. He was just doing his job, it wasn’t fair to hate him for it.

Her mother had told her that, the day they’d taken her father away in handcuffs.

He paused, watching her, like he still couldn’t quite figure her out, before he stood slowly, one hand holding his tie against his chest. He hadn’t opened the files, and she wasn’t going to ask him to.

“We spoke to the Detectives, Markham and Connors, they didn’t think you could be the killer. You flinch at the sight of blood, and you find it difficult to look at the bodies.”

“Do you think I killed them?” She held his gaze, “Do you think I’m killing them because I want to find a way to be close to my absent father, or that I hate women because ultimately it was women who took my father from me?”

Hotchner shook his head, “No, I don’t.” He gathered the files from the table, “I’ll ask Agent Morgan to take you home; he’ll stay with you until we’ve confirmed what you’ve told us.” He glanced at Daire before he turned and walked out of the room.

The door clicked shut, and Ashley kept looking at it, not sure what to say to her boss. She wasn’t sure there was anything to say. She heard Daire stand after a moment, heard the chair being picked up and carried back to where it belonged.

“It’s harder,” Daire broke the silence and Ashley had to look at her, “sitting in one of these rooms being questioned when you’re innocent.” She smiled, a twitch of her lips, and Ashley guessed her surprise must have shown on her face, “My father told me that, once.”

Ashley smiled, faintly, “I think it’s harder to be sitting outside, knowing that the person inside is guilty, but waiting for someone to actually say it.”

 

Ashley could feel the weight of Morgan’s gaze on her back as she fished her keys out of her pocket, and she wondered if he ever stopped profiling people. The drive to her apartment building had been tense. He hadn’t watched her interview, and he didn’t seem sure what to make of her.

“As a warning, I have a dog,” it was something she should have mentioned before, but she’d been too busy thinking about the fact that she was being escorted home by another FBI agent because she might be involved in a series of murders. She wasn’t, but she could be.

Somehow she managed not to sigh and thump her head against the door, instead she focused on each of the steps needed to get inside her apartment, mentally ticking each off as she completed it. Anything to not be thinking about how screwed she might be.

“I have a dog at home.” Morgan said, “I should be ok.”

Ashley paused, turning to stare at him. He frowned back at her, “What?”

“You have a dog, which means you smell like dog. You are going to get sniffed and licked, and possibly tackled to the floor.” Barnaby had done it before; he always got over excited when he could smell another dog. It had been amusing the first time, but embarrassing the second.

“I’m used to it.” Morgan nodded at the door, and Ashley sighed, turning the key again and pushing the door open, moving so that she was in the centre of the doorway, blocking Barnaby’s direct line to Morgan.

Barnaby wuffed a greeting before he jumped down from the couch, Ashley edged into the room slowly until she heard Morgan close the door. With the door closed, she tossed her keys into the bowl on the side, pulling off her jacket and hanging it up before slipping her shoes off.

“I’m going to bed. There’s food in the kitchen.” She waved in the relevant direction, not turning to see his reaction. She only stopped when he grabbed her arm, somehow managing to fend Barnaby off with his other arm.

“Gun?”

She turned, frowning at him. Her brain had finally given up; she needed sleep before she was going to be capable to sensible conversation. “Barnaby, leave him.” She waved her arms at Barnaby, who dropped back onto four paws, “What gun?”

“Do you have a back-up gun?”

They’d taken her gun and badge, she remembered, before they’d put her in the interview room. She shook her head, “Not here, in my locker at work, but not here.”

“Good.” He released her arm and motioned for her to continue on her way. She muttered about controlling men but went anyway.

The bed was more comfortable than the floor.

 

Ashley surfaced hours later to find Morgan on the couch with Barnaby sprawled across his legs, watching her TV. She frowned at him, ignoring the look he gave her. It was her apartment; she could wander around wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties if she wanted to.

“You going to dress?”

She glared. Now that she was effectively under house arrest, she didn’t care if he was higher on the food chain than she was. “In a while. Have you heard anything yet?”

His expression sobered, “Not yet.”

“Sorry you got stuck watching me.”

He shrugged, scratching Barnaby between his ears, “I’ve had worse jobs.”

Ashley nodded, “Considering what you do, I can believe that. I’m going to go get dressed.” Suddenly, she wanted to be wearing more clothes, though she doubted clothes would be any protection against a profiler.

As she walked back into the bedroom she hesitated, eying her laptop. She really hadn’t ever looked her father up, hadn’t even googled him. She frowned, picked it up and flipped it open then sat down Indian-style on the bed.

It took a few minutes to boot up, and she chewed on her hair absently. It wasn’t a good idea, but if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to think about anything else. She glanced at the door, wondering if Morgan would come looking if she took too long to dress.

She shook her head, refocusing on the laptop and opening up an internet window. She typed in her father’s name, hit enter, then opened a second tab and typed in ‘Redmond Ripper’. Then she scanned though the pages of results.

She wasn’t surprised to see that most of the links were to serial killer websites or news articles from when her father had been in court. He hadn’t had a nickname until after he’d been caught. The media had been fascinated by the only serial killer to have active in North Dakota. Her mom had hated it.

She didn’t click any of those links; instead she opened up the Wikipedia article. She knew it wouldn’t be correct; all of the reference would be from the other websites, or the newspapers, but it would give her an idea of just what people had been thinking over the years, when she’d told them who her father was.

Reading the entry she felt sick, there were a few abstracts from interviews with the families of her father’s victims. She knew some of the names, they’d lived in nearby, and she’d gone to school with their children. She closed the tabs, and then shut down the laptop. Her hands were shaking.

She didn’t want to read anymore. She wished she could go back to not knowing.

She dressed quickly, before she glanced at the clock, freezing as she realised how late it was. She heard keys in the front door, and cursed, hurrying back through the apartment.

Morgan’s hand was on his gun, Barnaby was hunched against the far wall looking sulky.

“Don’t, it’s ok, no gun pointing.” Ashley said, just as the door started to open and she caught a glimpse of red hair. Mellie came to a stop as she caught sight of the strange man in their apartment, green eyes widening.

“Ummm, Mellie, this is a, friend.” It wasn’t true, but it was a better answer than the truth, until Mellie closed the door and Ashley could get Morgan to explain what was happening. She had no idea what she was allowed to say.

Mellie frowned at Ashley briefly before stepping into the apartment and pushing the door closed behind her. She eyed Morgan for a moment before she smiled and held a hand out to him, “Melody Winters.”

Ashley knew that smile; it was Mellie’s professional smile. The one she used when she wasn’t sure how to react to something.

“Derek Morgan, FBI.” Morgan stepped forward and shook Mellie’s hand slowly, glancing between her and Ashley. Ashley couldn’t help but wonder what it was that was throwing him.

Mellie nodded to his gun, “I kinda guessed the FBI part already.” She paused, looking between the two of them, “does anyone feel like filling me in?”

Morgan frowned glancing at Ashley, who shrugged. It wasn’t like Mellie would care who told her, and if Morgan told her, he couldn’t yell at Ashley for saying too much. And, more importantly, she wouldn’t get Mellie into any trouble.

Mellie frowned again, clasping her hands together in front of herself, “How bad is whatever you don’t seem to want to tell me?”

That drew Morgan’s attention, “I’m here to watch Ashley, for a while.”

Ashley rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment.

Mellie’s frown deepened, and she moved her hands to her hips, a stance Ashley recognised from the few fights they’d had, “That tells me exactly nothing, Agent Morgan.”

“Ms Winters…”

Mellie’s eyes narrowed, “ _Miss_ Winters, and all I need to know is if you’re in our apartment because Ashley is in danger, or because she’s in trouble. I don’t need details.”

“I’m in trouble,” Ashley answered for him, ignoring the glare he directed in her direction, “we can leave if you want.”

Mellie sighed, rolling her eyes as she started to take her jacket off, “No, stupid, I can call a lawyer if you need me to though.”

Ashley held up her hands, “No lawyer needed.”

Mellie smiled, and then moved forward to kiss Ashley quickly on the lips, ignoring the bemused expression on Morgan’s face, “Good.” She turned to eye Morgan, “No threesomes I’m afraid, Agent Morgan, would you like a drink?”

Morgan coughed a laugh, before smiling at Mellie, “Noted, and coffee, please.”

Mellie nodded, hanging her coat up before she moved off into the kitchen, Barnaby in tow.

“Girlfriend?” Morgan looked at Ashley and she made a show of staring at him in surprise.

“You mean you hadn’t already profiled that about me?”

“Actually no, but sexuality can be a difficult thing to profile just from watching a person.”

“Come on to a lot of lesbians in clubs have you?” Ashley asked.

Morgan shrugged, “On occasion.”

“Not going to yell at me for telling her too much?” Ashley asked, though she doubted he would. It wasn’t like she’d actually told Mellie anything of substance.

“You didn’t tell her anything that I wouldn’t have,” he paused, watching Ashley for a moment, before he spoke again, “does she know?”

It was the question that Ashley had been expecting, another one of the list of questions she was always being asked once people knew her dirty little secret. Sometimes she wondered if it wasn’t worse, being related to a serial killer, than being a serial killer. By the time people knew what you’d done, you were behind bars. “She does.”

Morgan looked surprised, and Ashley felt a bit offended, though she wasn’t sure if she was offended more because he might have thought she wouldn’t have told her girlfriend, who she lived with, that her father killed people, or, because he might have thought that knowing your girlfriend’s father was a serial killer would be a deal breaker.

There were too many mights in that sentence for her liking.

“So you’d never choose to be in a relationship with the child of a serial killer?” Mellie stepped out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of drinks, her tone carefully pitched to sound casual.

Morgan stilled, “Sorry?”

“The walls are thin,” Mellie supplied, holding the tray out towards him, nodding to a mug that had ‘FBI’ written on its side and waiting for him to take it, “I heard most of your conversation, and the end part of it? I’ve heard before.”

Morgan shifted a little, examining the contents of his mug for a moment before he met Mellie’s gaze, “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Mellie stared at him for a moment before she nodded, “That’s an honest answer at least.”

Ashley claimed her own mug, “I’ve never been dumped because someone found out about my father.”

Morgan didn’t look convinced.

“She’d been dumped because she’s a slob,” Mellie provided cheerfully, “which is fair enough.”

Ashley made a face. It was true; she’d even been almost dumped as a roommate because of the mess she tended to leave behind. That fact she’d been in the middle of finals hadn’t seemed to matter.

“I guess it’s probably a good test on whether someone really cares about you,” Morgan allowed.

Mellie eyed him, “It’s not something that’s good to advertise; I can imagine there’s a whole bunch of people who would date someone just because they’re related to a serial killer. Like those groupies,” She shuddered, shaking her head, “who I never fail to find disturbing.”

“Hybristophiles,” Morgan said, “people who are sexually attracted to people who commit violent acts.”

Ashley frowned, “There’s a fancy name for it?”

Morgan nodded, “There are fancy names for most things.”

Ashley wondered what the fancy names were that they’d given her father in their profiles, though Wikipedia had given her some idea. She didn’t trust Wikipedia on something like correct terminology.

“I do know there have been cases where serial killer’s kids have become serial killers themselves, but that’s mainly sons following their fathers.” Mellie commented, taking a sip of her coffee before throwing an apologetic look at Ashley, “I am in no way suggesting Charlie will follow in your father’s footsteps.”

Ashley managed a weak smile, even though she felt a little sick. She’d been trying not to think about Charlie, or her mother.

Morgan caught her gaze deliberately, his expression kind, before he turned to Mellie, “You know a lot about this stuff.”

Mellie rolled her eyes, “I read a lot, which is actually part of my job.”

“Your job?” Morgan sounded suspicious and Ashley rolled her eyes. He wasn’t doing so well with his profiling.

“Mellie works for a publisher.” Ashley provided.

“I read the manuscripts that get sent in; if they’re good I give them to my boss, if not I write a letter to the author, giving them some feedback. I’ve read a good few true crime books.” Mellie said, shrugging, “and I have to read the books other publishers are releasing, so I can keep abreast of what’s doing well.”

“Ever read David Rossi’s books?” Morgan settled back down on the couch. Ashley wasn’t sure if he was really interested or if he was just making safe conversation.

Mellie nodded, “Four of them at least; I’ve read Max Ryan’s as well. I think I prefer Rossi’s style.”

Ashley coughed, ducking her head while Morgan grinned. Mellie frowned, looking between the two of them. She eyed Morgan for a long moment before her eyes widened, “Oh, I’ve seen you on the news.”

“You have?” Morgan seemed surprised.

Mellie nodded, “You work with Rossi.”

Morgan shifted in a little, and Ashley could tell he was cursing himself for not thinking that Mellie might make the connection. Mellie, good as she was at reading people, picked up on his discomfort, glancing briefly at Ashley.

“Is his ego really as bad as they say?”

That surprised a laugh out of him and Ashley relaxed as the other two started to discuss Rossi’s reputation.

Ashley couldn’t help but think how strange it was, standing in her apartment, with her girlfriend and her official FBI keeper, talking about stuff that had little to do with the fact that less than a day ago she’d been stuck in an interview room. If she’d had a better imagination she might have been able to pretend that there wasn’t a killer loose in New York, copying her father’s murders.

 

 **Mountrail County, North Dakota: 1996**

Rossi stood in front of the gathered staff of the Mountrail County Sheriff’s Department, with Katie at his side, while Aaron and Hamilton sat nearby, watching. Giving a profile wasn’t so much of a group effort. Aaron had been surprised when Rossi hadn’t dismissed them to keep going through the files.

“The unsub is a white male, aged somewhere between thirty and forty years old. He would have been in his twenties when he started killing,” Rossi started the profile, addressing the room at large, “he knows the local area well, so it’s likely that he has lived here for most of his life.

“Considering the spread of the crime scenes, he likely has a job that gives him a reason to travel around the county. He has the time to pick a place to kill and become familiar with that specific place. He knows that he will have the time to complete his rituals.” Rossi paused, gauging the reaction from the room, before he continued, “He is an organised offender. He carries his weapons with him and never leaves them behind at the crime scenes. Everything he does is carefully planned out, he doesn’t leave evidence behind, and he doesn’t take anything from his victims that could be used to connect him to them.

“He is highly intelligent and is most likely married with children. He is the last person you would expect to be a killer. He is charming, something he may to using to gain his victims trust before he kills them. He dresses well, and maintains an appearance appropriate to his social standing.

“It is very likely that he grew up in a dysfunctional home, with a mother who abused him, verbally rather than physically. He is either an only child, or an elder child. His upbringing caused him to crave power and domination, which in turn drove him to start killing, and he isn’t going to stop until he’s caught.

“He might have a connection to some of his victims, but it’s more likely they are strangers to him, or at the very least only passing acquaintances.

“He will have tried to inject himself into the investigation, most likely as a concerned citizen, so focus particularly on any men you have spoken to in regard to this case.” Rossi finished.

“How certain are you of all that?” Hawkes asked.

“Age is the most difficult variable to predict, the rest of it is based on what we’ve learned from the killers that we’ve caught. From what we’ve seen at the crime scenes, this guy is a power/control killer, and there are certain behaviours they all seem to share,” Rossi answered. “He may not match every part of the profile, but it gives you something to use to cut down your suspect list.”

“You didn’t mention if you think he has a criminal record,” Hawkes said, “shouldn’t he have done something else before he started killing?”

Rossi sighed, “This guy is controlled, he probably hasn’t got a criminal record, but it’s likely that there were earlier victims that haven’t been found yet. The victims we have, there’s no sign of progression, it’s like he just started killing with his technique already perfected.”

“So you think we should look for more victims?” One of the deputies spoke up, notepad resting on his knee, expression earnest.

“The first victims might have only been strangled,” Katie answered, taking over from Rossi, “given that the unsub seems to be using that as a way to control his victims initially, but it’s the way that he slashes his victims throats that suggests practice.”

“Couldn’t he be a doctor?” Another of the deputies this time, closer to the back of the room. Hamilton made a face.

“The way he mutilates the body doesn’t suggest medical training,” Katie said, “just a basic knowledge of anatomy.”

“Why do you think he kills them outside like he does, if he needs time to do what he does to the girls, why doesn’t he take them somewhere that he can be certain he wouldn’t get interrupted, then dump the bodies when he’s done?” The first deputy again, his knee bouncing a little. Aaron wondered if he’d been at any of the crime scenes.

“He doesn’t have access to somewhere private enough. He may have an area in his house that no one is allowed to enter but him, but he can’t use that space to kill.” Rossi answered, “There’s also the fact that if he were to use his car to transport the bodies, he could leave evidence behind that we could use to trace back to him. He is very careful not to leave any trace of himself behind, other than the act that he has committed.”

Silence fell, and Hawkes allowed a few minutes, waiting to see if there were any more questions before he straightened and stepped forward to take Rossi’s place, “If anyone of you can think of someone you know, or that you’ve spoken to about this case who you think fits the description the FBI just gave you let us know. If not, back to work, we’ve got a killer to catch.”

The staff dispersed, some heading home, others out on patrol, while the rest headed to their desks. Aaron watched them, focusing on the men. Their unsub could be one of the deputies, or a volunteer, they wouldn’t need to interject themselves into the investigation and they would have a reason to be traveling around the county. No one would question a law enforcement officer’s presence, especially not now, with the knowledge that someone in their community was a serial killer hanging over them.

Aaron sighed, glancing towards Hawkes, comparing what he knew about the man against the profile. He fitted some aspects, but Aaron couldn’t think of anything he’d seen in the man’s behaviour that would suggest involvement in the crimes.

“You think Hawkes could be our unsub?” Aaron managed not to jump as Rossi appeared behind him, breathing on Aaron’s neck as he spoke, voice pitched so that only Aaron would hear.

“No.” Aaron turned to face the other man as Katie and Hamilton moved over to join them.

“Why not?”

“He shows concern for the victims’ families, he isn’t comfortable around blood like you’d expect, and I’m fairly sure he’s the youngest of a number children.” It was a better answer than the automatic ‘because he doesn’t feel like a killer’, which he doubted would have gone down well with Rossi.

“He is,” Katie agreed, leaning against the desk beside Aaron, “I saw some photos of his family on his desk yesterday.”

“He isn’t comfortable around blood?” Hamilton questioned, casting a quick look in Hawkes’ direction.

“When we got to the crime scene yesterday, he walked Rossi to the body, then he headed back. His hands were shaking, and he looked a little green, but it wasn’t like the reaction someone has when they see the body of someone they know well.” Aaron provided. He’d seen that, mostly during his SWAT days, when someone failed to keep stop people getting through the cordon.

“I didn’t notice.” Hamilton frowned, and Rossi snorted.

“You were a bit busy throwing up.” Katie commented dryly.

“Should we do a check on all of the department staff?” Aaron asked, keeping his voice low.

“That’s one of the things I’ve had Ben doing, while he’s been hidden away in that room. He hasn’t found anything yet, or at least nothing he’s mentioned.” Rossi replied, “It’s worth reviewing their official records though, see if any of them routinely patrol in any of the areas around the crime scenes.”

They fell silent as Hawkes approached, one of the young women who worked the front desk in tow, “Mary thinks she might know someone who fits your profile.”

Mary offered them a weak smile, hands clasped nervously in front of herself, “There’s a delivery driver, he’s been in a few times, asking about the murders. He grew up around here, we lived on the same street, and he knows his way around.”

“He’s been on our suspect list for a while,” Hawkes added, “but I didn’t have any evidence, so I couldn’t even bring him in for questioning.”

Katie and Rossi exchanged a brief look, before Rossi turned to Hawkes, “Do you mind bringing him in? Tell him we’ve been told he might have seen something, don’t make it obvious that he’s a suspect.”

Hawkes nodded, “I can do that, and I’ll get you a copy of his file before I go.” He headed off, followed a moment later by Mary.

“As I’m naturally suspicious of anything this easy,” Rossi started, earned a snort from Katie, “I want you two to take another look at everyone you spoke to, find what you can on their background. Nancy should be able to help you with that.”

Aaron nodded his understanding, taking the instruction as a dismissal. He was aware, as he stood and headed to the conference room where the two researchers were holed up, that Hamilton didn’t follow.

 

Aaron was hutched over a desk in the bullpen with Nancy on the other side, records spread between them. Ben preferred to work in silence, and as they’d been comparing notes on their interviews, Aaron had suggested moving back to the desks they had been using before.

Nancy pushed a file towards him with the end of her pen, “Brother in law counts as too close a relationship?”

Aaron took the file, glancing at the name, “He’s victim number six’s brother in law?”

Nancy nodded, “Grace Jones.”

“The unsub could have started with someone he knew, could have been a trigger, but no, if he’s the sixth victim’s brother in law, he isn’t likely to be the unsub.” Aaron paused, reading through the end notes of the file, “He also doesn’t fit the description ‘highly intelligent’ and seems to have a taste for bar fights.”

Nancy made a face, “I hadn’t gotten that far down the page, I was considering discarding him just for personal proximity.”

“Personal proximity?” Aaron repeated, and she nodded.

“There’s a whole set of terms we researchers use, in our offices, as shorthand. Personal proximity is always a factor, but most of the ones that the BAU get called in on, they’ve already ruled out the people close to the victims. We always do a second check ourselves, but normally those with people who had a close personal proximity to the victims can be ruled out first.”

Aaron smiled, “Sounds sensible, I still have moment where I want to call them murderers or perpetrators instead of unsubs.”

Nancy smiled, “I think that’s understandable.” Her smile faded as she looked up, attracted by movement near the entrance to the bullpen. “I can see why he made it onto their suspect list.”

Aaron looked up, catching sight of the man that Hawkes was leading. He wasn’t attractive, he had a fairly tidy appearance, and held himself with a quiet confidence, but Aaron knew that the man would never be considered traditionally handsome. His nose had been broken at some point, and hadn’t been set straight, and his hair was a little dishevelled. “He does fit some of the profile.”

“On paper.” Nancy finished the thought, looking back down at the files in front of her, pointedly not watching as the man was lead to the interview room. Aaron followed suit, though he watched out of the corner of his eye as Rossi and Katie appeared, briefly, stepping out of the sheriff’s office to follow him deeper into the building.

Rossi had been right, it had been too easy. Profiles rarely instantly connected to a person, unless you’d formed a prior opinion, which Aaron suspected that Hawkes had. Digging through the pile of folders, he found the thin file with the list of possible witnesses.

He’d read it once, when he’d first gone through the case file, and had glanced at it since then, but it hadn’t been very helpful. A van had been seen in the area of five of the crime scenes, on the dates that the ME had given for the deaths of those victims. The witness statements didn’t make it clear whether it was even the same van though, some reporting that it was white, the others saying it was grey.

The other witness statements were mainly focused on the last time the victims had been seen alive. One had been seen getting off the bus, another leaving work and starting the walk home. It was depressing to read them and know that if people had just looked a little harder, they would have found them sooner.

Maybe they just hadn’t wanted to look harder. Missing might have been preferable to dead.

Aaron looked up from the list as Rossi reappeared, taking in the way that the other man was holding himself. Rossi weaved between the desks, coming to a stop next to Nancy’s chair.

“That was a quick interview.” Aaron commented, and Rossi sighed, shaking his head.

“The witness statements might place him close to some of the crime scenes.”

Aaron nodded to the statement in front of him, “He drives a white or grey van?”

“White,” Rossi confirmed, “but he has an alibi for at least four of the murders.”

“His wife?” Aaron was guessing, considering the guy was meant to fit the profile. Wives lied for their husbands a lot. Husbands lied for their wives less, though it depended what they were being accused of.

“For two of them, the other two he was out drinking with friends.” Rossi said, “Superficially, he fits, but he’s not our guy.”

Aaron nodded, while Nancy chewed on her pen.

“Looks like you’re going to have to keep at those files.” Rossi said, nodding at their pile, “Let me know if anything stands out to you. I’ll be in with Ben.”

Aaron nodded, turning his attention back to the statements. He sighed, scanning the names again, something nagging at him. A lot of the names were familiar; he’d followed up on a lot of the statements while talking to friends and family. But there was something else.

He read through the list again, running what he knew about each person on it through his head. One lived in a house close to one of the crime scenes, and had worked with another of the victims, another had no connection to any of them, but had been on the bus at the same time as one of them.

Aaron stiffened, staring at the third name from the bottom, and the notes beside it. That was the one that had been bothering him. One of the witnesses who claimed to have seen a van at one of the crime scenes. The only problem was, there was no reason for the witness to have been anywhere near that crime scene after dark.

Not when he lived in another town, thirty minutes’ drive away, and worked a job that shouldn’t have kept him out past dark.

Aaron looked up at Nancy, who stared back at him across the table, “Hotch?”

“I think I interviewed the unsub this morning.”


	5. Charles Beauchamp

**New York, 2010**

Ashley slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Mellie. It was morning; she wasn’t sure how early, but she could hear Morgan’s voice in the other room. She pulled on a pair of jeans, then stepped out of the bedroom; she could see Morgan pacing in front of the window.

She hesitated, weighing her options, before deciding that ultimately, sneaking around would be a bad idea. She moved into his line of sight and waved, earning a momentary frown before he picked up his coffee mug and waved it at her. She rolled her eyes, of course, she was young, blond and female, she would be happy to make him coffee while he got on with his business.

She watched him pace for a moment longer before she grabbed the mugs and headed for the kitchen. She rinsed the mugs out quickly before she refilled the kettle. Bread went into the toaster, and food went into Barnaby’s bowl.

Ashley lent against the side, there was a part of her that wanted to listen in on Morgan’s conversation, but she resisted the urge. It would be rude and she had no idea if it was even about her. For all she knew he had a girlfriend or wife he was talking to.

It didn’t take long for her to finish the coffees and dump the toast onto a plate, arranging it all onto a tray and carrying it out of the kitchen. Morgan was just hanging up as she rounded the corner, his expression grim.

She had a very bad feeling she knew what that meant.

“There’s been another murder,” Morgan said, looking up at her as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He only looked slightly rumpled after his night spent on the couch.

“Oh.” Ashley didn’t know what else to say. ‘Well now you know I’m not killing them’ was too cold, though she knew that there were people who would’ve said it. All that she could think was ‘oh God, no’.

Morgan nodded, “Yeah. Hotch said to tell you that you’re clear, and your family has been in L.A. the whole time.”

Ashley sighed. She lowered the tray to the table before rubbing the palms of her hands against her pyjama shorts. “I feel like I should apologise.”

Morgan shook his head, “I get that, I do, but you’ve got no reason to. It’s not your fault. Not your father, not this unsub.”

Ashley smiled, knowing it had a bitter edge, “You wasted time watching me, and the others must have spent time looking into my family, while the unsub was moving on to their next victim.”

“It happens.” Morgan said.

“Yeah,” Ashley ducked her head, “I guess that means you’ll be heading back to the field office.”

“And you’re coming with me.”

Ashley looked up at him, startled, “But I’m off the case, MacTaggart is probably going to enforce leave until the investigation is done. It would be a conflict of interest.”

Morgan’s eyebrows rose, “That depends, do you think your dad is innocent?”

That startled a laugh out of Ashley and she shook her head, “No. I know my father is guilty, I know he killed all of those women. He told me, after he was arrested.”

“And?”

Ashley frowned, “What?”

“That can’t be the only reason.” He sounded so certain, and Ashley wondered if there’d been a research project, interviewing the families of serial killers.

“Looking back, I can tell you all the times he did something that he showed us what he’d been doing, but we just didn’t notice.” Ashley shrugged, “I know it’s because we weren’t looking for it, not because we ignored it, but that doesn’t lessen the guilt.”

“You know your father better than any of us, even Hotch and Rossi,” Morgan held her gaze, his expression almost as intense as Hotchner’s tended to be, “that could help us a lot with this investigation.”

“I didn’t know how he killed. I didn’t know that the murderer I’ve been investigating for _weeks_ was copying my father.” She argued.

“No, but you know his behaviour.”

Ashley sighed, shaking her head and looking away. “I’m not sure I’ll actually be helpful, but I’ll come with you to the field office.” It wasn’t worth arguing with him. They’d figure out how little she knew as soon as they started asking her questions, and then she’d get sent home again.

Her father had always been a stranger to her. He’d just become more of one when she’d found out that he was a serial killer.

 

Ashley had to resist the urge to shrink back into a corner as she stepped into the conference room. Rossi and Jareau were the only ones there, the others at the crime scene with Donavon and Daire, and they had both looked up from the files they’d been reading as she and Morgan entered.

They exchanged a look, and Morgan gave her a little push towards the table. She took a deep breath, and then moved, settling herself into one of the chairs opposite the others. Rossi gave her a look, one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she ducked her head.

Her emotions were everywhere, and she hated it.

She was aware of the three BAU agents discussing something quietly for a moment before silence fell. When she looked up, they each had work in front of them. She shifted in her seat, then turned to look at the case boards. The details of the last victim had been added to them, and Ashley clenched her fists as she took in the crime scene photographs.

She was still staring at the detail on the boards when the door opened and the rest of the BAU team entered, Donavon following behind. He offered her a smile and a wink, and took the seat beside her. She relaxed, and managed a smile in return. His support was enough to lessen the urge to run.

She could do this.

It took a moment, the various team members getting themselves sorted, pulling out notes from the new crime scene and grabbing drinks while they had a chance. Ashley was aware of Hotchner’s attention, as well as Reid’s, but she didn’t react to either.

It was Rossi who spoke to her first, once silence had fallen again, “There are a few questions we were hoping you could answer for us, Agent Seaver.” There was a tiny hesitation before he’d used her rank. She guessed that now he’d made the connection between her and the little girl he’d once met, he was struggling not to think of her as Ashley. She was grateful that he hadn’t said as much out loud.

“Agent Morgan explained.”

“Do you know if your father had any friends? Anyone he might have spoken to?” Prentiss asked.

“He didn’t really have any close friends that I know of.” Ashley shook her head, “There’s no one I can think of who he would have talked to, about anything. My mom always said he hadn’t been a talker, not about himself, and he was always vague about work.”

“You’re certain?” Prentiss asked.

Ashley sighed, “I really don’t think there’s anything I can tell you that you don’t already know. I mean, according to your profile of my father,” she looked at Rossi, “would he tell anyone about his crimes?” She was fairly sure that the answer was ‘no’, but she wasn’t a profiler and she really didn’t know all that much about the way serial killers thought.

Rossi shook his head, “No he wouldn’t, but we wanted to be sure.”

Ashley hesitated, glancing at Hotchner, “You think the unsub has spoken to my father?” It would make sense if that was the case, for them to want her insight, limited as she knew it to be. But it bothered her still. “Haven’t you asked him that yourselves?”

The room was silent for a long moment before Hotchner spoke, “We haven’t interviewed your father. He was never interested.”

“Why does that matter?” Ashley frowned, looking to each of them.

“We only interview criminals who agreed to be involved in our studies,” it was Reid who answered her, “we’ve found that we get more useful information if they participate willingly. They’re less likely to lie, and most of them who volunteer _want_ to tell us about themselves.”

“Oh.” She felt silly, she should have guessed that. She was just so used to interviews being conducted, whether criminals were willing or not, but she guessed that once they were convicted, there wasn’t a need.

They seemed willing to let her process that, though she saw Morgan and Prentiss exchange a look. They were probably thinking that they had better things they could be doing. Actual leads to find. Though there was one she thought they didn’t seem to be following, “Maybe you should ask him now.”

“Ask him?” Reid stared at her and she frowned at him.

“My father. If they’re copying him, and I’m guessing using details that were never released, that means they’ve spoken to him, or they were involved in the investigation.” She looked from Hotchner to Rossi as she finished. Under different circumstances they could have been suspects, like her.

“Your father has refused to talk to us in the past.” Rossi answered, and Ashley nodded, she already had an answer to that problem.

“He’ll talk to me.”

 

It had taken almost an hour of discussion, but in the end it had been agreed that she and Agent Hotchner would head to Bismarck, and interview her father, while the others continued to work on what they could in New York. They had the two most recent victims to run background on.

Ashley hoped that they found something. She could feel the pressure; she knew, if she could get her father to open up to her, it would be the key to figuring out who the killer was; but that meant, if she _couldn’t_ get him to talk, they would go back to having pretty much nothing.

Ashley shifted a little in her seat, her gaze wandering for the thirteenth time in as many minutes. She was sitting on the BAU’s jet, and she still couldn’t quite believe it. She’d expected to have to catch a train, or a commercial flight. She’d never been on a private jet before.

She glanced over her shoulder, towards the cockpit, taking in the sofa and the kitchen alcove. The seats were a lot more comfortable than she remembered from her flights to and from L.A., and there was actual leg room. She suspected that Reid and Hotchner were grateful for that, considering how many hours they had to clock up.

She started guiltily as Hotchner appeared, sliding into the seat on the other side of the table from her, setting a pile of files and a laptop down on the table top. He eyed her, and she was fairly sure he was laughing at her mentally. “We’ll be taking off soon.”

She nodded, attempting a smile, then turned her attention to the window; she didn’t look at him again until they were in the air. All she could see out of the window was the sky.

They watched each other in silence for a long moment, until he shifted, resting his arms on the table top, “I wanted to thank you.”

Ashley frowned. She wasn’t sure he really had a reason to thank her. It wasn’t like she’d told him anything he hadn’t already known, or wouldn’t have found out eventually. She’d seen the look he and Rossi had exchanged when she had told them that her father would talk to her. That was what they’d been hoping for.

It was the real reason that he’d asked Morgan to bring her back to the field office, and she wasn’t angry with him for that. Ultimately, they were both after the same thing.

“You don’t need to.” She jumped in, not wanting him to explain his reasons, she didn’t want to hear them. “It’s my job.” It is, it really is, but at the same time, it’s not her job that drives her. She had volunteered because she didn’t want any more women to die. This unsub had claimed enough lives.

Hotchner watched her for a long moment before he nodded, a silent agreement to let it go. “Our technical analyst is looking into everyone who lived in Mountrail County during the period your father was killing. She’s going to let us know if any of them moved to New York recently.”

Ashley nodded. That would be the Garcia Morgan had mentioned, during the drive to the field office, she assumed. “I hope she finds something.”

His laptop beeped before he could say anything in reply, and he opened it quickly, angling it so they could both see the screen. Ashley blinked in surprise as a video window popped up, showing the interior of an office and a smiling, red headed woman.

“Good morning, friends.” The woman was surprisingly cheerful in comparison to the profilers. Ashley couldn’t help but wonder how she managed it.

“Penelope Garcia.” Hotchner’s tone was warm, fond, “This is Agent Seaver.”

Garcia smiled brightly, waving, “Rossi told me to let you know what I’d found, about that thing you wanted me to look into.”

Ashley could tell the thing was something to do with her father. Something they hadn’t been sure she would like.

Hotchner glanced at her briefly before he nodded to Garcia, “Go on, Garcia.”

“According to the records, Charles Beauchamp has not had any visitors since his trial. A whole bunch of people have requested to see him, but he’s always refused, which is kinda unusual.”

“What about letters? Any kind of communication with the outside world?” Hotchner asked, leaning forward a little. Ashley bit her lip, remembering the pile of letters she had, stored away in a box at her mom’s.

“He gets letters, mostly from your typical disturbed groupies, some from the families of his victims, but he hasn’t answered any of them. He has, however, been writing to his family.” Garcia offered Ashley an apologetic look, “Who haven’t replied to any of them.”

Hotchner looked at her and she sighed, “I got them but I’ve never read any of them. They’re in a box, in the back of a cupboard in my mom’s house in L.A.”

“Is there anything else, Garcia?” Hotchner asked, and Garcia shook her head, smile dimming a little.

“I afraid not. I’m still looking into anyone who has relocated to New York from Mountrail County, but nothing so far.”

“Ok, thank you, Garcia.”

“I will let you know the instant I find any matches, providing you aren’t in the prison, in which case I shall let you know as soon as you return to the land of reception.” Garcia saluted him before the video window closed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention the letters.”

Hotchner shook his head, “I doubt your father wrote anything about what he did to his victims in his letters.”

Ashley ducked her head, “I still should have told you.”

He pushed a file towards her, “We have two hours until we land. You should get caught up on the most recent victims.”

She nodded, accepting the file and flipping it open. Two hours was more than enough time to read up on the facts of the murders, and it would take her mind off what was to come.

 

 **North Dakota State Penitentiary, Bismarck, North Dakota, 2010**

Ashley had never been in a prison before, but it was pretty much exactly as she’d imagined.

The warden met them at the entrance, guiding them through security, watching as Hotchner handed both of his guns and his baton over. He was more armed than she had ever been. Ashley followed, always a step behind Hotchner, the files tucked under her arm her only weapon.

Her father had been told that two FBI agents were coming to interview him, that he couldn’t refuse to see them, but they hadn’t told him about her. Hotchner wanted to catch him off guard, to make sure that he father didn’t have any time to prepare himself. Ashley wasn’t sure if it would have made any difference.

She doesn’t think her father would have believed them. Then again, she thought, maybe he would. He still sent her letters, even though she never answered them. Maybe the hope that she or Charlie would visit was what had kept him going, through his personally enforced solitude for all these years.

As they walked, she built herself a mental wall, building it stronger as they got closer and closer to the room where her father was waiting. She put her emotions, her hurt, behind it. For what she was about to do, she needed to be like Hotchner. She had to be the agent, not the daughter.

Hotchner turned to her as they reached the final door, meeting her gaze steadily, “Follow behind me, keep out of his line of sight. You’ll know when to step into view.”

She nodded, her back ramrod straight, her expression neutral. She knew that she would only be able to keep it up for so long; she just hoped that it would be long enough.

The warden drew her ID card through the electronic lock, the sharp thud of the lock releasing echoing in the corridor, then the guards pushed the door open, holding it for Ashley and Hotchner to walk in.

Somehow, Ashley managed not to jump as the door slammed shut behind them. They had thirty minutes, and the warden would be watching from the observation room. She forced herself to focus, taking her first look at the man seated at the room’s sole table.

He couldn’t see her properly. He knew that she was there, but Hotchner’s body was blocking his view of her face. The man’s hands were shackled to the thick belt around his waist, and he looked almost bored.

Ashley swallowed hard; she had never seen that expression on her father’s face before. She’d seen fury, but she’d never seen that level of apathy.

He didn’t look as different as she’d expected. He still didn’t look like a monster. He had a beard, though it was neatly kept, but his hair was about the same length he’d always worn it. At some point it had turned grey.

“Hello, Charles.” Hotchner stopped just short of the table, not bothering with the chair. Ashley watched her father’s face as he tried to stare Hotchner down.

“You’ve wasted your time I’m afraid, Agent Hotchner.”

Ashley fought to keep her reaction off her face. Her father remembered him when she hadn’t, but she supposed her father had likely interacted more with him than she had. Back then.

“Really.”

Her father smiled, and it was an ugly thing that made her stomach clench. It wasn’t that it was cruel, or bitter, it was the emptiness; the lack of emotion behind the expression. He glanced at her, still not able to see her face, and she saw frustration flash in his eyes, just for a moment.

“You can bring as many girls in here as you want. It wouldn’t make me anymore interested in talking to you. I told you I was guilty, I told you that I killed those girls. What else is there to say?”

Hotchner’s right hand twitched and Ashley stepped to one side, facing her father for the first time since he’d confessed to her. “Hello, dad.”

Ashley watched the shock that crossed her father’s face, the shock he tried and ultimately failed to hide.

She clamped down on her emotions. She was not going to be the one to break. She wasn’t scared of him, not now. She wouldn’t be cowed, not like she had been as a child in the face of his anger. He owed her, she owed him nothing.

“Ashley.”

She moved forwards, pulling the chair out and sitting down, placing the files down onto the table. She retained eye contact with her father the whole time. “I have some questions, and I want you to answer them, truthfully.”

“Ashley,” he shook his head, “it’s been so long.”

“Who did you tell?” She asked, aware of Hotchner’s presence at her back.

Her father frowned, looking from her to Hotchner than back, “Tell? Ashley…”

She flipped open the file, and turned it so that her father could see the crime scene photos. “Who did you tell?”

Her father started at the sight of the pictures, his cheeks flushed dark red. He was angry. “Where…”

“You always used to tell me that there were bad people out there. That I had to be careful.” That drew his attention back to her, away from the photos, “You know who’s responsible for this. I know you do.”

Her father sighed, shaking his head. He didn’t say anything. Ashley fought against the momentary panic. She had to get him to answer, she had to.

“I’m going back there.” She tapped the file with one finger, “I’m going back to where this person is killing these women. As soon as we’re done talking.”

Her father stiffened, “You know better, I taught you better.”

“No, you didn’t.” She allowed her anger to taint her voice, just a little, “You taught me to be afraid. You taught me that people lie. You taught me that the world is a cruel place.” She opened the other files, spreading the photographs across the surface of the table.

“You taught me what people are capable of. That a person could do something like this,” Ashley pointed to a picture of Madison Keller’s body, “and then go home and pretend like they weren’t a monster.” She gave him a moment, watching as he flinched, just a little, “I remember how tired you were, and I remember how relieved you were the day they came.” She pointed at the photographs again, “The person doing this, I don’t think they want to stop.”

Her father just looked at her, a single tear running down the side of his face.

“I am going back there.” Ashley said, “Because I have to stop them.”

Her father bowed his head for a moment, his shoulders shaking, just a little before he nodded. When he spoke, Ashley could only just make out the words, “She’ll kill you.”

 

 **Mountrail County, North Dakota, 1996**

 _Her dad was angry and Ashley was afraid._

 _She couldn’t hide up in her room, he never liked that. She had to stay where he could see her. Had to stay quiet and do as she was told, he wasn’t asking too much of her. He always said that, and she guessed it was true._

 _Charlie stared across the table at her, his eyes wide. Dad didn’t get angry all that often, not like Shelley’s dad did, or Mr. Cross who lived in the big house down the street. They seemed to get angry a lot; her mom said that was why Mrs. Cross had gone away. She hadn’t wanted to live with such an angry man._

 _Ashley pressed her hands together between her legs, trying to hold as still as she could. She could hear her dad yelling at her mom in the kitchen;, she thought maybe everyone could, he was yelling so loud. Charlie flinched when there was a crash, something else broken, and he looked like he wanted to ask why, or go see what was happening. Ashley knew that was a bad idea._

 _Dad only got angry once a year, at least Ashley thought it was about that often. It was strange, and rare, and scary. She was glad he didn’t get angry like Shelley’s dad._

 _Charlie started to move and she kicked him under the table, shaking her head. They had to wait. The back door would slam, or dad would charge out of the kitchen, cursing, and go out the front door, then mom would come through._

 _Her mom’s cheeks were always a little damp, sometimes one was red, sometimes her mom would hold herself with the same care people did after they’d been hurt. Ashley never asked why, because mom had told her not to. Mom always just served dinner, like nothing was different, and then they’d go to bed, and her dad would come home late._

 _The door wouldn’t slam, but the stairs always squeaked._

Aaron had taken the time to get his notes together, Nancy starting her own hunt though their new suspects information before he headed to the conference room. There was a part of him that was frustrated with himself; he should have seen it before. He shook his head, that didn’t matter, he had figured it out now and he was sure that he was right, he had learned to trust his instincts years before; he just needed to convince Rossi.

And to do that he needed to have some information to back up his theory.

Ben looked up as Aaron stepped into the room, raising a dark eyebrow and Aaron nodded to him quickly before focusing on Rossi. “I think I might have interviewed the unsub this morning.”

Rossi lowered his pen to the table, the red one Aaron noticed absently, “What makes you think that?”

Aaron held his notes out to Rossi, waiting for the other man to take them before he answered the question, “I think he might have tried to implicate Malcolm Hunter.”

Rossi’s eyebrows rose, “The guy we just interviewed?”

Aaron nodded, “He gave a statement, saying he thought he’d seen a van, matching the general description of Hunter’s, close to one of the crime scenes.”

Rossi didn’t say anything, he just stared at Aaron.

“He didn’t make his statement until after the Sheriff had first spoken to Hunter, and, as far as I can tell, he had no reason to be in the area himself.” Aaron said.

Rossi looked back down at Aaron’s notes, scanning the page quickly, “He lives in Redmond?”

Aaron nodded, “He’s an accountant.”

Rossi frowned, “He did Veronica Kemp’s accounts.”

“He works for a lot of people, including relatives of some of the other victims, but these are close communities…” Aaron could remember his own words to Nancy, less than an hour before and he knew it could work against his theory.

“So there’s going to be a lot more overlap.” Rossi nodded, still reading over Aaron’s notes, “It’s worth following up on, let Katie and Daye know.”

 

Two hours later, Aaron was back at the desk he was sharing with Nancy and she was hanging up the phone. She made one last note, then pushed her pile of files over to him, resting her chin on her hand, “That is, to the best of my ability to compile, a full diary of the work that your suspect has been paid for over the last three years. I can go further back, but it’ll take me a while.”

“Thanks.” Aaron accepted the files, opening them and placing them alongside the timeline he’d been working on. He read the first few entries on Nancy’s list, before he went digging for the local map he had been using as a reference. He didn’t know the area well enough to gauge distances.

He traced through each job, making notes on a new sheet of paper. A lot of the jobs were long term and overlapped with others, but considering the type of work the man did, it wasn’t a surprise. Aaron winced when he spotted Hawke’s name. That was what made case investigations so much harder in rural communities. Everyone had some connection to everyone else. They used the same grocery store, their kids went to the same school.

It took less than an hour for Aaron to finish, and his final timeline made him feel a little sick, but it supported his suspicions.

“Hotch?” Katie appeared at his shoulder, leaning over to eye the list in front of him. He’d insisted that she use his nickname, if she wanted him to use her first name. She hadn’t argued. “That looks rather convincing.”

Aaron looked up at her, watching as she pursed her lips, considering. “The struggle will come when we actually go to bring him in for questioning.”

“His wife and kids?” Nancy, who had been listening in, winced.

“That,” Katie motioned to Aaron’s notes, “gives us reason to suspect him, but really all it says is that he was working in the right areas at the right times. He could have been home every night.”

“He gave a statement saying he had seen a van near the crime scene in Clearwater. Given the time he claims to have been there, he would have been home late that night.” Aaron said.

“What time did he say he’d seen the van?” Katie asked, looking at the map.

“Around ten in the evening.” Aaron answered.

“That is late.” She agreed absently, frowning.

“You don’t think it’s enough?” Aaron asked, and Katie sighed, shaking her head.

“I’ve read through his file, he does fit the profile. Oldest of three children, married with two of his own, he travels around for his job. The problem is still the lack of physical evidence. We can bring him in through.”

“He’s already been in for an interview.” Aaron pointed out and Katie nodded.

“I know, but it’s all we can do.”

She glanced sideways, straightening as she caught sight of Rossi, Ben, and Hamilton approaching, “Dave?”

Rossi waved a hand, “It’s time to break for the night. We’ll decide on a plan of action in the morning.”

Katie frowned, no doubt picking up on the same undercurrent to Rossi’s voice, “What is it?”

“It turns out that our unsub has been using silk ties to strangle his victims,” Rossi answered, “but it’s a different ties each time according to the fibre analysis.”

“Have they got anything else?” Katie asked, and Rossi shook his head.

“No, and they only looked into that much because I asked them to. It’s the only evidence that this guy has left at the crime scenes.”

“There’s something else.” Katie said, her eyes narrowed.

“I looked at Beauchamp’s financials,” Ben said, “he spends a lot of money on his kids, and he buys a lot of ties.”

“You mean his wife buys a lot of ties for him.” Katie said, and Ben shook his head.

“They have separate cards. I can tell which one of them has brought what, or at least make an educated guess. He buys flowers for her, she buys the groceries.” Ben shrugged, “I could be wrong.”

Katie frowned, glancing at Rossi, “And we’re leaving this until morning?”

Rossi shook his head, throwing a warning glance at Hamilton, “It’s getting late. We need to step back and come back in the morning. If it still looks like Beauchamp is a good suspect, we’ll act on it.”

“And if he kills again tonight?” Hamilton asked, impatience coloring the words.

Rossi shook his head, “If he does, and he’s our man, it’s on me.”

 

Aaron didn’t have a very restful night’s sleep. He woke early again, and phoned Haley. He just needed to hear the sound of her voice.

 _”It must be bad, if you’re calling me at this time in the morning.”_ She sounded sleepy, but she’d answered on the third ring.

Aaron winced, glancing at the clock, it was earlier for him. “It’s, it’s not worse than others, it’s just, more frustrating.”

 _”Hmmm, can you talk about it?”_

Aaron sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily, “Not really, and to be honest, you don’t want to know.”

Haley sighed, he could hear her moving around their kitchen. He wished that he could be there instead of in North Dakota, even though he knew that, given the choice to make again, he would still choose the BAU. _”I was thinking…”_

He smiled, glad that she wasn’t pushing, “About?”

 _”How big our house is.”_

Aaron made a face, hoping that she wasn’t bringing up kids again.

 _”Don’t you make faces Mister,”_ she scolded. _”I was thinking about maybe getting a dog. It could give me kisses in the morning when you’re not here to do it.”_

He laughed, “Are you trying to make me jealous of a dog we don’t even have?”

 _”Yet.”_

 

Once they got to the station, Rossi and Katie took what they had to Hawkes, spending an hour closed away in the sheriff’s office. Aaron had looked up from his files every so often, watching Katie pace the office while Hawkes and Rossi sat on either side of the desk.

“Hotch,” Nancy drew his attention, before nodding behind him.

He frowned, turning. Hamilton was guiding a nervous-looking girl towards them. Her dark hair had been scraped back into a high ponytail, but she wasn’t wearing any make-up, and her hands were shaking.

“Aaron, would you look after Miss Saunders for a minute?” Hamilton used his most professional tone of voice, not waiting for Aaron to answer before he started towards Hawkes’ office.

Aaron managed not to let his irritation show, standing and offering his chair to the obviously shaken Miss Saunders. “Do you want some water?”

She shook her head, clasping her hands together on her lap; it wasn’t just her hands that were shaking.

Aaron glanced at Nancy, who shrugged. At a guess she’d come in because she knew something about the case, but Hamilton hadn’t said anything, and she was scared enough that Aaron was wary of doing anything but sitting with her.

Thankfully it hadn’t taken long for Katie to appear, Hawkes, Hamilton and Rossi a few paces behind.

Katie nodded to Aaron, motioning for him to move away, before she stepped forward, dropping to a crouch in front of Miss Saunders. “Agent Daye told us that you’ve come in to give a witness statement.”

The woman nodded after a moment, but she didn’t look up, “I saw the man you’re after.”

Hawkes started to say something, only to be cut off by a gesture from Katie, who backed it up with a sharp glare. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be clearer, who did you see?”

“I saw him murder that girl, two nights ago.”

Katie took a breath, “Ok. Was it a man you recognised?”

The woman shook her head, shifting a little, almost looking up at Katie, “No, but I can tell you what he looks like.”

Katie looked at Rossi who nodded. Katie turned back to the woman, her hands clenched at her sides, she wanted to reach out, but she couldn’t. It would have only made Saunders jump. “Is it ok if we show you some photographs?”

Saunders swallowed hard before nodding.

Katie offered her a smile, still resisting the desire to reach out to the younger woman, “OK.”

Rossi held out a pile of photographs he’d pulled from the files scattered across the desk in front of Nancy, and Saunders twitched suddenly, as though she’d just thought of something, looking to Katie, her eyes wide, “Wait, I, you’ll keep me safe?”

Katie nodded, reaching out to grasp Saunders’ hands, “We will keep you safe, I promise.”

Saunders looked up at Rossi, then Hamilton, then Hawkes before she nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing, just a little. “Ok.”

Katie squeezed Saunders hands again before letting go and taking the photographs from Rossi. “I’m going to show you each of these photos, if you see the man, let me know ok?”

Saunders took a deep breath before she nodded, “OK.”

Katie placed each photo back on the table after Saunders had seen it. Saunders didn’t react until the fourth picture. “That’s him.”

“I’m going to show you the rest of the photos, ok?”

Saunders frowned, clearly confused before she nodded, “OK.”

She didn’t react to any of the rest of the photos, though Aaron was aware of the glances she kept throwing at them. He guessed she must have thought they had another person in mind; she was looking for a sign. She wouldn’t know that they always showed all of the pictures, made sure that they didn’t show any preference to the witness.

They couldn’t lead them in any way. It had to be their identification.

“None of the others?” Katie asked.

Saunders shook her head and then pointed at the photo she’d identified, “That’s him. I saw him, before he caught up with her. I, I ran away after he dragged her off the road.”

Hawkes shifted, looking uncomfortable, while Rossi frowned. Aaron knew that, ideally, she should have come forward before, but she was clearly terrified. He couldn’t blame her for waiting.

Katie held up the photo for them to see, “It’s Beauchamp.”

 

As he climbed out of the car, Aaron had wished that he had been carrying both of his guns. He had worn his ankle holster for his first two weeks at the BAU, but it had started to feel a bit unnecessary when he was spending most of his time in the office. But being out in the field again, he missed the familiar weight of it.

It was always good to have a backup weapon.

After Saunders had ID’d Beauchamp, Hawkes had made the call. They would bring him in as an official suspect. They had enough for that.

Rossi and Hawkes lead the way to the front door; Aaron kept pace with Katie, a few feet behind while Hamilton and Deputy Campbell brought up the rear. He wanted to approach the house as he had during raids, but it was a weekend and Beauchamp had kids.

They had to do this as gently as possible, and that meant knocking on the door.

Aaron put his hand on the butt of his gun; he doubted he would need it, but he wanted to be able to cover Hawkes and Rossi if he had to. Katie did the same, edging to one side, placing them just out of sight behind and either side of the front door.

Hawkes stepped forwards, knocking on the door and waiting, Rossi half a step back. They didn’t have to wait long for it to open.

“Sheriff Hawkes.” Beauchamp’s wife, Kelly stood in the doorway, eyes widening as she took in the six law enforcement officers. She frowned, shifting her weight, “What’s going on?”

“We’re here to see your husband, ma’am.” Hawkes said.

“Charles,” Kelly shook her head, “I don’t understand. He gave his statement yesterday.”

“Kelly, there’s,” Hawkes hesitated.

“Your husband is a suspect.” Rossi took over, “We’re here to take him in for questioning.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment before she shook her head, “My husband would never…”

“There’s a witness, Kelly.”

She shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand, just as a young girl came to the door, blue eyes widening. She glanced between her mother and the Sheriff, shifting. She was old enough to recognise that something was wrong.

“Mom?”

Her daughter’s voice spurred Kelly Beauchamp into action, reaching out to her daughter, pulling her to one side, “It’s ok ,Ashley.” She took a deep breath, meeting Hawkes’ gaze steadily, “He’s in his office upstairs.”

Rossi stepped forward, holding out a hand to her, “We can step outside, if you would rather.”

Kelly hesitated, her grip on her daughter tightening, ever so slightly, “My son…”

Rossi nodded his understanding, “I can look after her while you go get him.”

Kelly wavered, before she nodded stiffly, “Ashley, can you go with the nice man for a minute? I need to get your brother.” She gave her daughter a little push, but Ashley clasped onto her mother’s arm.

“Mom, what’s happening?”

Her mother wavered, shaking her head, “Ashley, sweetie, I just need you to go with him for a minute, I will be right back ok?”

Ashley stared at her mother for a long moment before she nodded, moving towards Rossi.

Aaron watched as Rossi guided the girl away before he turned. Kelly motioned for them to follow her into the house, stepping to one side as they reached the stairs, “He’s up there, second door on the left.” She nodded to them before turning away and heading further into the house.

Aaron glanced at Katie, who shook her head, expression grim. There was nothing they could do for his family, except get it over with as quickly, and with as little fuss, as possible.

They followed Hawkes up the stairs, and Aaron kept his hand on the butt of his gun.

Hawkes pushed the door to the office open without knocking, stepping in quickly, Katie on his heels while Aaron stayed in the doorway. Charles Beauchamp stood slowly, turning to face them, his hands in full view.

His was not the behaviour of an innocent man.

“Charles Beauchamp….” Hawkes read Beauchamp his rights as he cuffed him. Beauchamp didn’t struggle. Aaron thought that he almost looked relieved, like he’d wanted to be caught.

It seemed more likely that he’d just seen it coming. Aaron frowned at the thought, the only way he could have seen it coming was if he’d known there was a witness.

And that would have meant that, as he’d sat talking with Aaron the day before, he had known there was a witness out there. Saunders could have walked into the station while Beauchamp himself had been there. Aaron dreaded to think what could have happened.

Hawkes pushed Beauchamp towards the door, but the man struggled, motioning to the bottom drawer of his desk. “In there. I kept them all.”

“What?” Hawkes frowned at the other man, shaking him a little. Beauchamp didn’t answer.

Katie’s mouth thinned and she glanced at Aaron before she pulled a tissue from her pocket, covering her hand with it as she bent down. She hesitated for a moment, and then reached out to pull the drawer open. Inside was a collection of silk ties.

 

Aaron watched as Hawkes lead Beauchamp away, waiting until the door of the patrol car was shut before he made his way to Beauchamp’s car. He’d found the keys in the kitchen, just where Beauchamp had told him they would be.

He couldn’t believe that Beauchamp was just giving in to them like he was. He’d been killing for nine years, leaving no evidence behind that could be used to trace him, then when they’d come to his door, he’d just handed them what they needed.

Aaron unlocked the car, hesitating beside it for moment before he walked around to the other side. He covered his hand with his sleeve as he pulled the front passenger door of Beauchamp’s car open, leaning into to open the glove box. All he could see was a bulky object wrapped in cloth, he hesitated then stepped back. He wasn’t going to pull it out.

He heard Katie approach, her heels digging into the gravel drive, and he turned to face her.

“Is it there?” She asked, glancing past him, into the car.

Aaron nodded, “There’s something wrapped in a cloth, it’s big enough to be a knife.”

Katie shook her head, sighing. “He could have hid it somewhere better.” Aaron could hear the words that Katie wasn’t saying. He’d seen the way she’s looked at Beauchamp’s kids. She was thinking about how easy it could have been for one of the kids to find the knife.

“I doubt he’s ever let them sit in the front.” Aaron offered; his own father had been like that. It was a safety thing as much as a control thing. Kids were safer in the backseat.

Katie nodded absently, before she turned to look at the house, crossing her arms over her stomach. “I always hate it when their houses look this normal.”

Aaron wasn’t sure there was anything he could say that would make her feel better. He shifted his weight, glancing back to the car, then out to the street that was still full of law enforcement vehicles. He should call Haley, let her know that the case was done. That he would be coming home.

But he didn’t want to call her yet. He’d wait until he felt a bit more balanced.

Yes, they had caught the killer and they had enough evidence to guarantee that he would go to prison for a long time and they hadn’t needed to use their guns. But, he thought as he watched Rossi lead Beauchamp’s daughter to a car, people’s lives had been changed irreparably.

They could give the families of the victims some closure, but they couldn’t bring the victims back.

They had stopped Charles Beauchamp from killing again, but they also taken a father away from his children, and so much more.

It wasn’t a bloodless victory.


	6. Ashley

**BAU Jet, 2010**

Leaving the prison had taken longer than getting in, but that hadn’t been a surprise. That was how prisons were supposed to work. It had been a tense thirty minutes, and all Ashley had done as they’d made their way back to the jet was play her father’s words over in her head.

“Saunders,” Hotchner said, “she was the witness that came forward after Charles Beauchamp’s last murder.”

Ashley watched the two video screens, as Rossi leaned back away from the camera and Garcia typed in the name. She thought that Saunders would already be on their list; Garcia had been searching for anyone from Mountrail County living in New York. It was a surprise to her that neither Rossi nor Hotchner had considered Saunders before.

“She said she ran after she saw him drag Hannah off the road,” Rossi said, frowning, “she didn’t know the details.”

“She lied,” Ashley said, “she watched all of it.”

Hotchner nodded, “Beauchamp said that he knew she was watching, he could see her.”

“But he never said anything?” Morgan asked. “She was the only witness.”

“He pled guilty, he didn’t know what she’d told us.” Hotchner answered, “He knew that a girl watched him kill, he thought she’d told us the truth.”

“Saunders, Marie was a resident of Stanley North Dakota until she was twenty, then she vanishes,” Garcia shook her head, still typing, her gaze fixed on another screen. Ashley was a little in awe; her paperwork would get done a lot faster if she could only type that fast.

“Vanishes, Garcia…” Morgan sounded less worried than Ashley felt; she hoped that was a good thing.

“Ah, no doubting my awesome powers mortal, Marie Saunders vanishes, and Ashley Champion comes into being. It seems she legally changed her name, then moved around some.” Garcia looked at the camera, “She’s been in New York for the last three years.”

“But she’s only just started killing.” Rossi said, frowning, “What happened in the last year, what triggered her to start killing?”

“Ashley Champion?” Ashley repeated the name, horrified. Hotchner reached out across the table, gripping her wrist lightly, his dark gaze sympathetic.

“It makes sense, if she’s obsessed with your father…” Reid went quiet after Prentiss elbowed him, a flush covering his cheeks. Ashley clenched her fists beneath the table; she could guess what he had been going to say.

“To answer Rossi’s question, there doesn’t seem to be anything trigger-y in her records, no losses, no traumatic events of any kind, nothing,” Garcia said, sounded apologetic, “I have her address, and her place of work and I’m sending them to you all.”

“What about the list from the prison, of people who tried to contact Beauchamp?” Hotchner prompted.

Garcia pointed her fluffy pen at the screen, typing with her other hand, “Ashley Champion is on that list, she tried to see Beauchamp on three occasions, and has written a whole scary lot of letters to him. Does not wanting to be ignored anymore count as a trigger?”

“It can.” Rossi answered, sounding grim.

Garcia winced, “In that case, you, boss man, may have just put your finger on why this girl went all stabby.” She paused, still reading from her other screens, “That is however, about all I can find this quickly on your girl, I shall keep digging and let you know if I find out anything else.”

“Thank you, Garcia.” Hotchner said, and Garcia smiled, bowing her head before her screen went dark. “If you follow up on her, go to her workplace and home, see if you can bring her in.”

The BAU all nodded their understanding, all of them but Rossi and Jareau moving out of sight of the camera.

“See you in two hours,” Rossi said, before the second screen went dark as well. Hotchner reached out and closed the laptop, then pushed it to one side, turning his attention to Ashley.

“You did a good job,” he offered her a faint smile.

She shook her head, “I got lucky.”

Hotchner sighed, “After he was arrested, your father didn’t tell us very much. You got more from him in fifteen minutes than Rossi managed in a week.”

Ashley frowned, “Why?” She shook her head. “I mean, I understand that he seems to want me to forgive him, or still love him despite what he did, but, he’s so willing to tell me everything now.” She ducked her head and stared blankly at the table in front of her. She should probably re-read the files, see if there was anything that might help, but it felt like she’d gotten everything from them that she could.

“When you were a child, he would give you everything you asked for.” Hotchner’s voice was soft, and Ashley looked up at him despite herself. She had asked, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Not really.

“Pretty much everything.” She agreed, not wanting to talk about the things he hadn’t given her.

“If you had asked, if you had known to ask then, he might have told you.”

Ashley frowned, “Might have?” She didn’t want to believe that. She might have painted a picture in her head of her cruel father, who had hidden so much from her and had cost her innocence, but she had never thought that he would have told her. She couldn’t imagine him sitting her down one afternoon and telling her about the women he had killed.

“He wants you to understand.” Hotchner said, and Ashley flinched, closing her eyes.

“I don’t think I ever will,” She said. “But if he wants a daughter who understands..” She cut herself off, ducking her head. She shouldn’t have said that out loud. Not to Hotchner.

He let the silence stretch out for a few minutes before he spoke again, “There’s a possibility that is how she sees herself.”

Ashley frowned again, looking up at him, “That doesn’t make me feel much better.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.”

Ashley closed her eyes, forcing herself to try and look at the whole thing like ‘Ashley Champion’, the woman who just might have been attempting to be Charles Beauchamp’s perfect daughter. It was crazy, but Ashley knew that reality, the truth, wouldn’t matter to the woman. “What would make her think that?”

“It’s likely that she doesn’t have a very good relationship with her own father.”

“So she decided that a serial killer would make a better dad?” Ashley couldn’t be detached. She was angry, she could admit that, and she knew it was aimed more at Saunders than her father. He might have killed people, but he had never wanted that part of himself to be a role model for others.

“Your father.” Hotchner paused, watching her for a moment, “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but after he was arrested, he did what he could to make it easier for you.”

Ashley met his gaze, “He talked about me didn’t he?”

Hotchner nodded, “Not much, but he made it clear he wanted you and your brother kept away from the trial. He could have fought, but he didn’t. He gave us all the evidence we needed to put him in jail, when he could have used you as an alibi.”

Ashley smiled, though there was no joy in it, “People always try to use their family for alibis.”

“A lot succeed.” There was a story behind those words, Ashley could tell, but she didn’t want to ask. She had enough on her mind as it was.

Ashley raised an eyebrow, “Denial is a powerful thing.”

Hotchner nodded again, “So is love.”

“Yeah.” Ashley looked away, staring out the window. She wanted a way to help but it seemed likely that, by the time they were back in New York, the others would have arrested Champion. “Do you think she’ll confess when they catch her?”

“If she’s really doing this as a way to be closer to your father, she’ll want him to know.”

“That’s a yes.” Ashley said, not caring at that moment that Hotchner was a superior, someone she was meant to respect. This whole case just seemed to keep messing with her emotions. Maybe joining the FBI hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

 

 **New York, 2010**

They made it back to New York just as it was getting dark, and the drive to the field office was silent. Ashley wished she could just ask to go home, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to see this through, had to know for sure this woman wasn’t going to kill any more people.

It was the only way she could even start to deal with it all.

She’d thought, misguidedly, that she was over it. That her father wasn’t a part of her life any more, and he couldn’t affect her. She just hadn’t even considered that someone might decide to drag her back to where she had started.

She had no trouble with hating Ashley Champion/Marie Saunders.

Donavon and Rossi were waiting for them in the foyer, their expressions grim, and Ashley started a mental list of things that could still go wrong. It was a lot longer than her emotional state would have her believe.

“Ashley Champion didn’t make it to work today, and she hasn’t been home.” Rossi informed them as they headed for the elevator.

“We’ve got people keeping an eye on the apartment, but from what her neighbours said, she hasn’t been home in a few days.” Donavon added, moving to allow Hotchner to walk beside Rossi. He reached out and gave Ashley’s arm a quick squeeze. She was grateful he didn’t ask her how she was doing.

“Garcia has been doing a check on Champion’s bank records, but she hasn’t found anything yet. MacTaggart is working on getting us a warrant to search Champion’s apartment.” Rossi added, and Ashley wondered why she had thought it would be easy.

Just because her father, once he’d been made an official suspect, had made it easy for them to catch him didn’t mean Champion would do the same. Champion probably didn’t even know that her idol had done so, it wasn’t recorded anywhere, none of the people involved at that point had spoken about it. Until now.

“Have we got anything to connect her to the victims?” Hotchner asked.

“Not yet, they’re working on the camera footage. They might be able to track her from her home or work to the crime scenes, but it’s going to take a while.” Donavon answered, throwing a look at Ashley. She knew as well as he did the cameras were as much of a hindrance as they were a help. They didn’t cover everywhere and the angles were sometimes awful.

“We need a way to draw her out.” Hotchner made it sound easy. Ashley had a bad feeling that she would be thrown another emotional curve ball before the day was done.

 

It took an hour of discussion on the conference room, with Ashley and Donavon acting more as observers than participants, before they came up with a plan they all thought would work. Ashley wished they could have come up with a plan that didn’t involve her.

Ashley stared at Jareau for a long moment. She knew that she had to resemble a startled deer, but it was all she could do not to run in the other direction. “You want me to make a statement?”

That wasn’t her job. It was Jareau’s. It wasn’t a job that Ashley wanted.

They wanted her to stand in front of cameras and announce to the world that she was Charles Beauchamp’ daughter, and she couldn’t say no; saying no would mean risking Champion killing again before they could catch her.

“We need to force her hand,” Rossi said, his tone even. It made her want to punch him. But she didn’t.

“I’ll talk you through what to say,” Jareau said.

“What about the questions?” Ashley asked, surprised at how remote she sounded. She knew there would be a lot of questions, that people would approach her and ask for interviews. If she did it, she would open herself up to all the things her mother had protected her from. All the things she had worked so hard to avoid. She closed her eyes and just breathed for a while, not really hearing the answer to her question.

A hand pressed against the back of her neck, urging her to lean forward, to put her head between her knees. It helped with the dizziness, but it didn’t make the sick feeling go away.

 

Jareau had taken her home, once the panic attack had passed, and had spent the night on the couch. Barnaby had been less interested in the new visitor, but Jareau had at least fitted on the couch a little better than Morgan had.

Mellie hadn’t commented, other than to ask if there would be another FBI agent staying the next night. Ashley had thought, maybe, under different circumstances it would have been funny. As it was, Ashley hadn’t answered. She had given up trying to predict how things were going to go.

Jareau picked clothes out for Ashley to wear, and Ashley dressed without arguing. She would take as much advice as the other woman had to offer.

If she had to do this, she should at least do it well.

She glanced at her phone, wishing that she could call her mom and warn her. It wasn’t just Ashley who would be affected by what they were asking her to do. Mellie pulled her into a hug, squeezing hard before she let go, then taking a step back, and meeting Ashley’s gaze steadily, “You are doing the right thing.”

Ashley laughed despite herself, “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Mellie shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.”

Ashley smiled at her girlfriend, the tension in her shoulders releasing, just a little, “Thanks.”

Mellie hesitated, glancing towards the bedroom door, “If you want, I could be there?” Jareau, JJ, had said enough that Mellie knew that Ashley was taking in part in a press conference.

Ashley shook her head, “No, it’s ok. I need to do this myself.”

Mellie watched her expression for a moment before she nodded, somewhat reluctantly, “Ok, just, if you need me call?”

Ashley nodded, “I will, promise.”

Mellie smiled, giving Ashley a little push, “Go on, the sooner you leave, the sooner the hard part will be over.”

Ashley managed a smile, even as she mentally disagreed. The press conference would be the easy part, living with it would be the hard part.

 

Daire pulled Ashley to one side as she walked into the bullpen, JJ at her side. JJ gave her a little nod before retreating to the conference room, where the rest of her team were waiting. There was still an hour until the press conference, but Ashley wished she had longer.

“I want you to be sure.” Daire said, “There are other ways to force Champion’s hand, and we still can’t be certain she is our killer.”

Ashley shook her head, “I think they’re right, and this is the best way to get her to come forward, without putting anyone else at risk.”

“Anyone but you.” Daire corrected, anger showing in her dark eyes, “I’m not happy about putting one of my agents into a situation as the target for a serial killer.”

Ashley swallowed, her legs feeling a little shaky. She wasn’t sure if it was because Daire was concerned about her, or because she’d been reminded she was about to paint a target on her own back. “I’ll have two agents with me at all times,” She recited Hotchner’s promise from the night before.

“There’s the personal risk as well,” Daire said, “Not just from Champion.”

Ashley frowned; it took her a minute to catch Daire’s meaning. She sighed, pressing her fist into her thigh to resist rubbing a hand over her eyes. “It was going to happen one day.” She had always expected it, had always been prepared for it, she’d just never actually wanted it to happen. She had liked having a choice whether people knew.

She just hoped, once Champion was caught, the attention would shift to her and people would forget the FBI agent whose father was a serial killer.

“You’re sure you want to go through with this?” Daire didn’t back down.

Ashley nodded, “I’m sure.”

Daire nodded sharply, “We should finish getting you prepared.”

 

Ashley gripped the dais hard, squinting against the various camera flashes. She wondered if hell in any way resembled a press conference. JJ stood, tall and unmoved, at her side. Ashley wished she had the other woman’s composure.

She swallowed hard before she forced herself to straighten up. She had a statement to make, and then she could go find a bathroom and lock herself in a cubicle for a little while. She had her gun back, she would be able to handle it if Champion somehow managed to track her down.

She took a deep breath, then started speaking, not letting herself think, just reciting the statement that Hotchner and JJ had walked her through. “My name is Ashley Beauchamp,” the room went absolutely silent, almost eerily so, “my father, Charles Beauchamp, is the man you know as the Redmond Ripper, and I am here to ask you for help.”

The rest of the statement was easy, and she managed to remember it all, pausing at the right moment and never once looking away from the mass of press representatives. Once the words were out, the ones that she said so rarely, the name that she hadn’t used in years, the rest was nothing.

She finished the statement, then thanked the press and the public, and stepped off away from the dais, walking the short distance to the door slowly, not rushing. Morgan pulled the door open for her and she stepped through, and out of sight, then slumped down against the wall.

She was never doing another press conference. Not if she could help it.

 

Donavon brought a pack of cards with him for his shift of Ashley-watch, dealing them both cards without waiting for her permission. “Figured you’d appreciate a rest from paperwork.”

Ashley gave him a look, “You mean you figured you had an excuse to get away from your paperwork?”

Donavon shrugged, “Our girl hasn’t shown yet; I figure she’s waiting for you to leave the building.” Ashley’s eyebrows rose and Donavon kept going, “It’s traditional to play poker with the condemned woman.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ashley said, resting her chin on her hand.

“He’s right.” Prentiss, who was sharing the shift with Donavon, commented from the far end of the table, lowering the file she’d been reading to the table top. They had taken over the break room. It was a better position, more because it wasn’t as open as the bullpen, and didn’t have a picture window like the conference rooms.

“I don’t think poker is traditional,” Ashley said, and Prentiss grinned.

“No, you’re right, it should be chess.”

Ashley frowned, then shook her head, “I don’t think I want to know.”

Donavon snorted, “The things you don’t know.”

Ashley took her cards, letting the comment drop. At least her keepers all seemed to get along. She made a face as she took in her hand; she hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come. She stood, crossing to the cupboards and hunting out supplies.

There was no point in playing poker if they didn’t have anything to bet with.

 

Hotchner and Daire had claimed the last shift of the day. She wasn’t going home, she had been told that much, though there were uniforms watching her apartment, and Mellie, just in case. She had a night in a hotel suite to look forward to.

She walked out onto the street, Hotchner in front of her, Daire behind, and crossed her arms over her stomach. It was the only way that she could put her hand on her gun without it being obvious. It was getting dark, the street lights already on. Ashley watched Hotchner idly, wondering how he could be so calm. It hadn’t been so long since he’d walked out of the same field office, down the same street, with the SAC of the New York field office. The only difference was, Daire’s SUV was parked closer to the office.

Ashley knew there was one place that Champion would choose, if she were really to sit waiting for Ashley to leave the field office, and they were already coming up to it.

Ashley didn’t look, she followed Hotchner’s example, keeping her eyes forward, pretending she wasn’t expecting someone to jump out at her as she walked past. She felt Daire drop back, enough so she wouldn’t be visible until it was too late for an attacker to react.

Ashley tensed and turned away as soon as she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. She thought, for a moment before the silk scarf was wrapped around her neck, that Champion was disappointingly predictable.

Then Ashley was reaching into her pocket for the pocket knife she’d grabbed before leaving her apartment that morning, flipping it open before raising it to her neck. She slipped it under the scarf, as much as she could, barely noticing the flash of pain, then pulled, sawing at the scarf.

It was hard to focus when she was struggling to breathe, kicking out with one leg at her attacker, just as the scarf loosened. She heard Hotchner shout a warning, followed by a female voice yelling something at him. She pulled hard, using the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to grab behind, grasping the scarf were it gathered at the back of neck. She leaned forward, using her weight and taking advantage of Hotchner and Daire’s presence, and managed to yank the scarf from Champion’s grip.

Ashley staggered forwards, ripping the scarf away from her neck and taking deep, desperate breaths. She forced herself to turn, to straighten up, to face the woman who had tried to kill her.

Marie Saunders. Ashley refused to think of her by the name she’d taken, with her dyed blonde hair and dark clothes, struggled against Hotchner, screaming insults and spitting. He didn’t let go, forcing the woman’s hands behind her back and holding them there while Daire cuffed her.

Ashley stiffened as Saunders looked at her, eyes so full of fury, “You don’t deserve to have him as a father.”

“No one does.” Ashley replied.

 

Ashley sat on her desk, watching as Donavon lead Saunders off to the holding area, rubbing her neck idly.

“You should go to the hospital, get checked out.” Ashley jumped, turning to look at Rossi as he approached.

She felt her face heat up and ducked her head. He’d caught her, but she didn’t want to leave yet. She was ok, better than the other woman Saunders had attacked. She would recover, there would be no lasting effects of her experience; no physical ones at least. “I’m fine.” She winced at how raspy her voice sounded. He wasn’t convinced.

“You had a silk scarf wrapped around your neck,” he motioned towards her, “hard enough that it’s already started to bruise.”

Ashley winced, raising her hand and hunching her shoulders to hide her neck from view. She didn’t feel up to being examined by a doctor. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep in her own bed, without there being another FBI agent asleep on her couch.

She might even take Barnaby for a walk in the morning, a chore Mellie normally did. It would be nice to be outside for a while, and Barnaby would dissuade anyone who decided to try and talk to her; he was good like that.

“I’m fine, really.”

Rossi snorted, shaking his head, “No, you’re not, and that’s ok.”

Ashley sighed, lowering her gaze, “Could you not profile me right now? Please?”

He hesitated, hovering over her. She winced; all that he was doing was reminding her of the day they’d met. He’d hovered over her then as well.

She didn’t want any more reminders.

“We got the warrant; Morgan and Prentiss were on their way to her apartment before you guys headed out.”

Ashley took the bait, knowing that he wouldn’t go away if she didn’t. There was something he felt he needed to say, whether she wanted to hear it or not. “What did they find?”

“Not a whole lot; we’re guessing she has a second location that she’s been using.” Rossi answered, and Ashley wondered why he’d felt it was so important.

“Oh.” It was just another thing they were going to have to chase down, and Ashley wasn’t feeling especially thrilled at the idea of more work on the case. She wanted it to be over.

“Even if we’d been able to get the warrant sooner, we wouldn’t have had any more to work from.”

Ashley smiled faintly, “The press conference was the right call, I know, even if I did end up getting attacked on the street.”

Rossi shrugged, “I think we’ve covered that, you’ll live and we caught the killer. She won’t be killing any more women.” He hesitated before he moved, sitting down in her desk chair, “You know that we found evidence in your house? That he kept everything there or in his car?”

Ashley caught on then, “I know there are differences, between her and my father. I don’t see them as the same.”

“Really?” Rossi asked.

Ashley nodded, then winced, “The only reason this case is getting to me, is _she_ thinks they’re the same. I don’t know what it is that made her kill, and I don’t really understand what made my father kill either, but I do know it’s different. That they are different, in ways beyond the fact that she used a scarf; he used a tie. She’s a woman, he’s a man.”

“And you know it’s not your fault,” Rossi added, and she stopped, staring at him before she sagged, just a little more.

“Maybe, but there’s a big difference between knowing that, and feeling it.”

“There is.” Rossi smiled, “Come on kid, let’s get you to the hospital, the others can finish this without us.”

 

 **Quantico, Virginia, 2011**

Ashley could remember when she was a cadet and she’d spent every free minute was she wasn’t sleeping on the assault course. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, watching as a group of cadets rounded the last corner.

It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d been one of them.

She rubbed her thumb against the scar on her neck. It was a scar she’d given herself, at some point during her struggle to get the silk scarf off her neck. It had taken her a while to notice the blood running down her chest at the time, too distracted by her attacker and being able to breathe freely.

She hadn’t learned enough from that brief struggle, she thought ruefully, as her head started to throb again. It had been two weeks since, during a raid on the house of a suspected murderer, she’d forgotten to check behind the door once she was in a room and had been clocked over the head by an angry old woman.

She’d been lucky, Donavon had reminded her, between comments about being beaten up by an old lady; she could so easily have been killed. That was why Daire had sent her back to the academy, there was always more training to be done. Ashley had two more weeks of advanced training courses before she was due to return to New York.

She needed to learn to think, to not allow her heart to lead her head so much, something she’d thought she’d learned, before she’d been forced to face her past head on. She couldn’t let it control her, and she couldn’t let it eat at her either.

“What do you think they should do?”

Ashley jumped at the sound of the familiar voice, turning to face Hotchner as he stepped up beside her, nodding to the cadets below, an eyebrow raised.

Ashley blinked, glancing back at the assault course, listening as the instructor told them what they needed to do. “They should tie the mannequin’s arms together, put am arm through them then lift it onto their shoulders.”

She glanced back to him, watching as he nodded. She shifted her weight, not sure what to say. The last time she’d seen him had been at Saunders’ trial. He’d been the only one of the BAU to give evidence, and she’d heard more from him that day about her father’s case than she’d ever heard.

Ashley had sat in the back of the court, watching the defense attorney question him, had watched him use his calm against the other man, and she’d been a little in awe. She still hadn’t decided if it was a good thing, her tendency to look up to her superiors, wishing that she could just be like them.

She wondered if it made her like Saunders. Looking for someone to copy, someone else to be.

That thought alone made her want to be herself, to learn from instead of imitate. But it was going to take her a while to get there and she knew it would be a hard road. She’d spend a lifetime looking to other people, doing as they did for fear that if she didn’t, they’d learn her secret. She’d convinced herself that she didn’t want to be her father, and the only way to do that was to be someone else. Someone good.

And she’d needed someone to use as an example.

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what are you doing here?”

He turned to her, turning his back on the cadets, who were still struggling with their task, “Agent MacTaggart mentioned you were here.”

Ashley frowned. She hadn’t known that they spoke. Hadn’t even known they got along well enough for that, but then, they were both hard people to read. “Aren’t you too busy to visit?”

Hotchner shrugged, “I didn’t get a chance to talk you, after the arrest, or the trial.”

Ashley blushed. She had been careful not to hang around, partly because she hadn’t wanted to give the press anything to talk about, and partly because she’d known he wanted to talk to her. She’d had time, between the BAU leaving and the trial, to process everything. That included the first time she’d met Aaron Hotchner.

She hesitated, before she straightened, “Could we walk?”

He smiled, a tiny upward quirk of his lips, and nodded, letting her lead the way.

She waited until they were alone, standing on a deserted path, before stopping and turning to face him, “Your father wasn’t a serial killer.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Hotchner agreed, “but I know what it’s like, having the past get in the way of a case.”

Ashley looked away, shifting her weight. She had wanted to ask, she hadn’t needed to be there when he gave his evidence, but she’d been toying with asking him. She hadn’t been brave enough in the end. “It’s,” she chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think of the right words, “you say that, but I don’t believe it. I get that, there are people in law enforcement who hate murder cases where a kid witnessed their parent’s death, because that’s what happened to them. There are others who were raped, and have problems dealing with rape victims. It’s just, all of those things, they’re more personal.”

“No,” Hotchner said, “it isn’t. If you’ve been a victim of something, seeing another victim is hard. It doesn’t matter if there are differences; it’s the reminder that’s hard. Suddenly you’re thinking about something that you’ve tried to bury.”

Ashley felt herself flush. He was right, and she was annoyed with herself for not seeing it. She was still letting her emotions get into the way, acting like she was the only person to have to deal with what she was dealing with. She sighed, closing her eyes, “I wasn’t a victim; I’m not a victim. I feel like I don’t have a right to feel like this.”

“You were a victim. People might not think it, or treat you like it, but you were.” Hotchner reached out, touching her shoulder. “You had your father taken from you.”

Ashley looked up, meeting his gaze, “My mom still has your card; she told me, after the trial.”

“The number doesn’t work anymore.”

Ashley smiled, “I don’t think she expects it to.”

Hotchner’s expression was solemn, “You can use it, the way you feel. It’ll help make you a better agent.”

Ashley shook her head, “It feels like it it’s making me a worse agent.”

He sighed. “Either you use it, or it will break you.” They were words weighed down with experience, and it made Ashley think about the things she’d read. Mellie had encouraged her to read up on the BAU after New York. She’d also offered an ear, for whenever she felt like talking about things. It was a better offer than a therapist.

Ashley let out a sigh of her own, “I think using it is harder.” She’d done it, facing down her father, she’d used it.

Hotchner shook his head. “Unless someone else decides to use your father’s MO, it’ll get easier. When there are differences, it’s easier to separate yourself from it, and the more often you do, the less it’ll weigh on you.”

“Is that your way of telling me that I should stay in the FBI?”

Hotchner’s phone beeped before he could answer her, and he frowned, pulling it from his pocket. She waited, not saying anything as he read the message. She could guess what it was about; the BAU were almost constantly fielding requests for help, and she’d heard about Jareau’s reassignment. It was good for the other woman, considering her new job, but Ashley suspected it had had a negative effect on the team she’d left behind.

He looked up after a moment, looking apologetic and she smiled. “You’ve got a new case.”

Hotchner nodded, “In New Mexico.” He didn’t move to leave. “To answer your question, yes, I think you should stay in the FBI.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He watched her for a moment longer before he pocketed his phone. “I hope to see you around Agent Seaver.”

Ashley smiled, “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you again for a while.”

“I don’t know,” He met her gaze, his expression solemn, though she could see amusement in his eyes, “given your life experience, you might make a good profiler.”

-  
Love and fear. Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other.   
_Joseph Joubert_

When one has not had a good father, one must create one.  
 _Friedrich Nietzsche_

-


End file.
